Name Confused
by enchanted nightingale
Summary: What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.
1. The Shadow King

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Sherlock do not belong to me. I only use them in my plot for fun and do not profit from this.

**1. The Shadow King**  
It felt odd, seeing the office around him. He knew he was not the first one to inherit this position and with it such power, he was not that arrogant to believe this or delusional. All his knowledge and games and strategy and manipulation from the shadows had brought him here. 'Here' was not literal. The office in itself was nothing outstanding, just wood and leather inside four walls, surrounded by too much security. Its essence the power he held that made this position the top, the highlight of his career and he was only in his thirties.  
Mycroft stared at his reflection in the screen of his lap top. He was, unofficially of course, the very top as far as political power went in UK. He was as his estranged sibling often and quite dramatically accused, the British Government. He held the power to bring down or make a Prime Minister, the economy, the army, everything and anything. He had the ear of the Palace, the keys as well. He protected the country from internal and external threats. He was literally the puppet master behind laws and legislations, bringing down terrorists and maintaining peace. He ruled from the shadows and more often than not, his dear puppets had not even the slightest inclination he was doing it. Not all that surprising that one, considering only a select few could spot him in a room and not bypass him as just another bland, run of the mill and useless bureaucrat. People had been underestimating him since he was a kid. Mycroft, unlike his younger brother, used their ignorance to his gain, hiding in their expectations and using them to further his agenda, and what a busy agenda that was. But all his plans, all his designs nearly came to an early end.  
Just that morning there had been an attempt on his life, the first of many to come, he was sure. It had annoyed him more than it angered him to be shot at. And as an insult to the already gaping metaphorical injury, his people had run around like headless chickens, not knowing how to react. Well, not 'his' people. He had not yet had the time to pick every single one of them and check their backgrounds personally, not when he had been busy with the elections. One blind spot and all hell broke loose. And how he was doing everything in his power to fix that.  
There was a knock on the door and Mycroft turned. His voice was crisp and clear when he spoke.  
"Enter."  
Tall, but not taller than him. An expensive, well fitted and tailored suit in charcoal black with thin grey stripes, grey shirt and a black tie. Emerald green eyes peeking from behind rectangular and stylish glasses. The jacket and trousers did not curve at all, but Mycroft knew the man was armed with at least three guns and one more, a trump card.  
"Harry Potter," Mycroft states.  
"Mycroft Holmes," came the deep voice.  
"You know who I am?"  
"As well as you know who I am… Sir."  
Mycroft assessed the man he had been assured would become his shadow. Harry Potter. Orphaned as a child. Abused by family relatives growing up. Used once already by the great men of the country to save lives. A weapon by choice and habit now. A man who could see Mycroft's position and understand. A man who liked the shadows as much as Mycroft did. The man who was the British Government had read the file on the wizard, yes he knew about the Other side as well. They had caused a number of problems because of their civil war and had made his work rather difficult. Thankfully all that was now in the past.  
"You know what's required of you," Mycroft states when he has finished assessing the green eyed wizard who stands still across the room. He does not fidget or seem uncomfortable and that is a trait Holmes appreciates. It is not an awkward silence either. Potter nods at the statement the other man makes but there really was no other way. He would not really be here if he had not known and already been accepted, but even Mycroft must conform to some formalities.  
"Do you agree?" Mycroft asks. Another formality but he wants to hear the answer. He is much like the devil in this subject. And in a way Potter being in this room, in his presence, is a lot like a contract, the wizard selling his body and services and in actuality his life and soul to Mycroft and his cause and plans.  
"Yes."  
Again, Mycroft expected the answer. He does not smile but he does feel content that he now has at least one man he can trust with his affairs. The Unbreakable Vow they later share is yet another formality. Their bonded witness is a wizard as well, one Potter summarily Obliviates and then sends away. It has started; their partnership. And Mycroft's first task comes soon after.  
"I want my attackers found," he orders and Potter just nods.  
Two hours later the men are found and summarily punished and Mycroft can focus on more important things.


	2. Anonymous

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Sherlock do not belong to me. I only use them in my plot for fun and do not profit from this.

* * *

** Anonymous**

* * *

The Separation Act was in place for five years, six months and twenty days as of that morning. The Act is essentially the barrier that separates the Magical and Non-Magical worlds so that they no longer stepped on each other's toes. Much like the Elves of old millennia ago had retired in a pocket dimension, on Earth but not quite, the wizards and witches and the magical creatures finally decide to go that way. In the beginning and end of this decision was a prophecy that foretold a dark age, wars and tragedy as long as the two worlds shared space. Harry James Potter, the Saviour, the Boy Who Vanquished Voldemort, was nineteen when the prophecy was made. He was twenty when the rulers of the Magical world, creatures and humans alike, got together and decided to cooperate. They made plans to retrieve the Muggleborns through portals. They made a dimension like another, if a bit smaller Earth, that was theirs.

Harry was twenty five when the plan was finalized and he was twenty five and a day old when he knew that he would not be joining the other Magicals into the barrier. There had been others who had stayed behind but the majority had crossed over. As the years went by, Harry Potter, Auror and later Hit Wizard had felt out of sorts with his life, not quite fitting in, hating the spotlight; not knowing what to do with it. He had tried to make his life, settle down with Ginny, have a family, but the seams just did not fit any more. For three years before the Barrier was raised he had retreated from the magical world, like a self banishment really. He still helped his friends and family, but from the shadows, liking being a nobody, not being stared at.

Harry kept most of his money and converted it to Muggle money, left quite a lot to his godson, said his goodbyes and never crossed the gates. To this day he had no idea what his friends and family thought and a part of him did not really care, because finally, he was at peace. No one stared at him, no one expected him to save the world just because he had twice in the past. He was no longer a messiah, a hero. He was finally happy. The one favour he had asked of Kingsley was to get him in touch with the British Services, just before he quit his Auror position. As an agent under her Majesty's service, he was no longer THE Harry Potter, just Potter. And when the notice came, the same one that brought him to Mycroft Holmes' office, and when he left that place, he was not even Potter because he could have no name, no identity to trace and exploit. He was just a face without a name and despite being saddled to the man who was the British Government; he was freer than he had been in a long while.


	3. Eyes

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Sherlock do not belong to me. I only use them in my plot for fun and do not profit from this.

* * *

**3. EYES**

* * *

The ride was silent if one ignored the constant ticking of buttons. The two men sat side by side in the black car. Eyes had a Blackberry out and was texting furiously and non stop. At his side, Mycroft Holmes sat, a lap top opened on his lap, eyes watching the video feed.

"And I've just been out of the office for lunch," Mycroft is shaking his head. "One measly hour and a war nearly broke out."

Eyes snorts but remains silent otherwise, his texting never stopping.

Mycroft shoots him a glance. "Progress?"

"The satellites have them," came the whispered response.

"How long till we reach the Ministry of Defence?"

"Three."

It is exactly three minutes later that the car stops. Mycroft has turned off and locked his lap top. Eyes, not once taking his eyes off his Blackberry, exits the car first, green eyes subtly glowing as he sweeps the area once, from behind dark glasses. Then he walks over to the other side of the car and opens the door for his boss. Mycroft exits elegantly, first a leg, then the umbrella, then another leg. The guards outside are standing in attention as Mycroft walks past them, Eyes merely a step behind the man.

Gordon Peters is a tall man, taller than them, decked in an expensive suit and an air of pompousness that suffocates the room. He thinks he knows everything and that is the first reason why Mycroft dislikes the man. The second is because this man has ruined a perfectly busy day, what with the elections in the Philippines and all. he knows Peters does not like him either, thinking him an ignorant man, a pencil pusher he can boss around and scare but Mycroft is annoyed and is not about to placate the man's delusions. Brigadier Jones and General Woodberg stare when he enters. They see what Peters cannot or perhaps loathes to see and stay in the background as Mycroft, calm and smiling, tears into Peters, demanding answers from the politician but not really needing them. He knows that Peters took one million pounds from that particular industry in order for the army to get new rifles. He knows that that particular weapon manufacturer is also dealing arms to their enemies and has recently had a hand organizing an uprising in Somalia and he is far from happy about it, especially since there is only danger and no real gain for them in using said supplier, who is going to lose his little uprising anyway.

"Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?" Peters shouts.

Then he rounds up on the green eyed wizard who is happily texting in the background, seemingly ignoring all of them.

"And what the hell is pretty boy over there doing? You! Don't you have a name?"

The wizard looks up. "Eyes."

"What?" Peters sputters.

"That is his name," Mycroft explains as if the man before him was a child. "And your services are no longer needed, Minister."

The man splutters a bit before vulgarities leave his mouth. Eyes finally looks up from his phone, walks towards Mycroft and shows the man something that has Holmes smiling.

"Perfect, thank you Eyes," Mycroft tells the raven haired wizard. He turns to Peters. "Your accounts have been frozen and the money you took removed." He ignores how the man before him flounders and is ready to protest. "There will be no official inquiry, no scandal." He does not say that the reason there will not be a loud, public mess is because he is not bored enough to resort to such measures and that the current political climate in the country suits him. It is not for the ears of the people, Eyes excluded, in this room.

"As of ten minutes ago you resigned your post," Mycroft continues.

"I did not!" Peters shouts.

"The Post thinks differently and who am I to argue?" Holmes asks, a smile on his face. "You are a loving husband after all, taking the time to see to your wife after the scare she had what with the near kidnap of your daughter."

Peters is now pale and trembling and the army people pretending not to listen to the whole exchange.

"What have you done?" the politician is no longer shouting.

"Nothing," Mycroft continues to smile. "That is only what the papers will write and what you will convince your family to say, unless you want your wife and consequently your father in law to find out about Deborah Bryan, the cute twenty something year old maid you had an affair with. Cute boy Chris turned out to be, just had his second birthday too."

Peters sits in his chair, his entire body shivering.

Eyes steps forward, documents in his hands.

"Confidentiality agreement conveying everything we have so far discussed," Mycroft explains. "Signing it is not optional."

When they leave the building later, they immediately enter the car, Mycroft and Eyes sharing the silence. It is another day at work after all, even though Mycroft hates cleaning up after those who were supposed to work alongside of him.

"Your table is still reserved," the green eyed wizard speaks up once the car engine is on.

Mycroft glances at him. "My appetite is ruined. Tell me, my Eyes, what is new from the election front?"

The report is detailed; making Mycroft's evening decidedly more pleasant.


	4. Diogenes Club

**Title:** Name Confused

**Author:** enchanted nightingale **B**

**eta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.

**Disclaimer:**Harry Potter and Sherlock do not belong to me. I only use them in my plot for fun and do not profit from this.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Diogenes Club**

* * *

The 'Diogenes Club' was first and foremost a gentlemen's club. Of course the term 'gentlemen's' was a bit misleading as women had been allowed in the Club for the better part of the nineteenth century in small numbers, had an easier access during the twentieth century and now, well into the twenty first, were as many as the men. It was a place for minds like Mycroft's to gather and think. It had all the amenities of a club of considerable repute and the membership cards were exclusive to the influential people, those truly influential and not money wise. It was for people who with a whisper could start a war and with a few suggestions could overthrow entire governments. It had not started like this, but its functions evolved enough to include one of Mycroft's particular favourites, the 'Diogenes Club' acted as a front for the British Secret Services, but only when Mycroft fancied it. It was after all a Holmes who had co founded this establishment a couple of centuries back. Sherlock had naturally learned of its existence and like everything that had to do with Mycroft, had turned his nose down on it, claiming that it contained the most unsociable and lazy men in London, possibly the entire United Kingdom.

Mycroft felt at home in that place, where quiet was requested of the members, where he could think, plot, relax among people like him. It was the one place no one bothered him, not even his brother. Or when Sherlock did come, he was not allowed inside. The only place 'Diogenes Club' allowed non members and talking was the 'Strangers Room' that existed for that reason only. Everywhere else, silence was the rule. The members were not allowed to even cough. Three chances, three coughs even, and they were no longer members of the Club.

It was the one place the green eyed wizard never followed him and not because he could not. He actually had the power and connections to become a member, but the wizard whose name had been Harry Potter had admitted to Mycroft that he lacked certain subtleties that most members had in abundance, the most prominent being patience was one of them. The ability to do nothing quietly for hours feels under that.

So on the nights when Mycroft asked his chauffeur not to take him home, the man had only one alternative route to take, the one leading to the 'Diogenes Club'. That was at least half the week, more if there was a particularly pressing situation that needed to be dealt with. The green eyed wizard did not bat an eyelash, merely focused on his mobile phone.

"Did you settle the situation with the ambassador, Eyes?" Mycroft asked, earning the man's complete attention and focus.

"It is Silence today," came the reply.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. "New name?"

"I cannot decide on one I want, so I experiment. The name I'm using today is not bad, perhaps I will keep it every time we visit the Club, seems fitting that way," Silence replied.

"You have an odd sense of humour."

The wizard merely shrugged, "Should I forward the name I use each day?"

"It would be convenient," Mycroft commented.

"Then it will be done. Also, the ambassador left pleased," the wizard added.

"Excellent," Mycroft commented.

Silence went back to his mobile phone when it was obvious the older man would not be speaking again.


	5. Siblings

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Sherlock do not belong to me. I only use them in my plot for fun and do not profit from this.

* * *

**Chapter 5 Siblings**

* * *

The first time the raven haired wizard with the faded bolt like scar met Sherlock Holmes was in a restaurant. Mycroft had been having lunch, this time without the politics. He had arranged for his younger by seven years sibling to come to him. He had sent his assistant, who had cheekily informed him that day's name was to be Broer (which was apparently Dutch for 'brother'), to bring Sherlock to him. The genius had recognized the car as one of Mycroft's and got in reluctantly.

"If I'm going to get to the other side of London, I might as well save myself the cab fare," the youngest Holmes brother had stated. He was both so similar and so different from his older brother. Where Sherlock was pale and tall and had black curls, while Mycroft was rosy cheeked, a bit shorter than his sibling and his hair had a brownish hue to them. They had few similarities to give away the fact they were related the main one being their overwhelming intellect. Well, they were both not the most social people but Mycroft had learned to hide his distaste for stupid people better than his younger sibling.

The green eyed wizard had been content to keep his silence during the ride but Sherlock had had other plans.

"So, you're one of Mycroft's?" the question was a bit redundant really.

Broer looked into dark blue eyes and gave a short nod.

He missed the way Sherlock seemed ticked off at him for not answering.

"I bet you are new," the genius mused. He seemed to study Broer who was doing his best not to react. "Your hands show that you are not afraid of hard work. The way you hold your mobile shows expertise but you slip up every now and then so you must be new to technology. You certainly look physically well, possibly you also work out a lot but the suit hides you, makes you blend in the background, bet you like it that way, being part of the tapestry. I know I'm right," he adds.

The car stops and the green eyed man opens the door, stepping out first. He walks ahead of Sherlock, leading him to Mycroft's table where said man's meal had just been served.

''Eating for two, Mycroft? Is that wise?'' Sherlock asked with an almost cruel smirk.

''Do sit down Sherlock, half of it is for you; you've lost weight again.''

''Food's boring so I don't eat,'' the younger genius responded.

Mycroft sighed. ''Must you always be so difficult?''

They shared a glared Broer swore was deadlier than a Basilisk's. The standoff lasted a while and then Mycroft sighed and broke the childish game.

''Did you get the money mummy wanted me to give you.''

Sherlock scowled. ''I did.''

''Do call her soon, she worries, we all do.''

The younger off the two huffed and stood. ''If that was all then you could have just called.''

''I did. You hung up on me.''

''Did I?'' the smile on Sherlock's face showed how glad he was that he had annoyed his brother. ''I suppose I should thank you for an irritating evening," he said.

When Sherlock stormed out Broer looked at Mycroft's flushed face. The man was angry, angry and a bit ashamed and most of all deeply hurt by his brother's actions. Then the mask that had slipped for just a second was back on.

"Broer," he said. "It seems that my brother is unable to join me for dinner." He folded his napkin, ready to leave the table when the green eyed man joined him at the table.

"You have not eaten anything since breakfast," the wizard stated with a frown. "If it's company you want…" he trailed off, pointedly looking at the man.  
The dishes came then and they started eating together. Nothing else needed to be said.


	6. Overworked

**Title:** Name Confused

**Author:** enchanted nightingale

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Summary: **What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.

**Disclaimer:** The characters do not belong to me. I only use them in my plot for fun.

* * *

**6. ****Overworked**

* * *

It was four in the morning and green eyes were frowning. They were hardly the last people in the building. Everyone who worked with Mycroft Holmes was on standby. The man himself was pale, eyes dark with hollowness and tiredness. Forty eight hours. That was how long they were in a state of alert. All because of one intercepted call that spoke of an attack in London. Every hot spot and monument in London was under watch and his men and women were on alert. The green eyed wizard knew that the staff rotated, working every eight hours but Mycroft did not have that luxury. For as long as they were in a state of alert, the man was awake.

"… and I could care less. Make it happen," Mycroft said into his phone. His voice hardly betrayed how tired he was as he gave the ultimatum.

"Sir?"

"Ah… there you are _Ares_. I just got off the phone with Guy."

"Iraq or Afghanistan?" the wizard asked.

"Currently, the latter," Mycroft sighed. "We are closing in on them."

"I came with the latest report," _Ares_ replied as he handed a thick manila folder to his boss. "To sum it up, we found three suspects, members of the core. We managed to confiscate three kilos of C4 and a number of weapons and grenades."

Mycroft frowned. "Three?"

A text message arrived in _Ares'_ mobile, making the wizard smirk. "Make that four and we have a few more names. It seems one of them was the leader."

"Better."

The wizard nodded. It was his turn to frown when the phone rang again and Mycroft picked it up again, speaking rapidly in Pashto. _Ares_ could follow the conversation and progressively he was able to relax. When Mycroft got off the phone, he looked relatively calmer.

"Good news?" the wizard hesitated asking.

"Moderately," Mycroft replied and turned to his computer as information was rapidly arriving. "We have two more hours to wrap this up _Ares_ and I need your expertise."

"Who do I need to kill?"

"Nothing as radical my good man, just arrange for a transfer of funds," Mycroft told him.

"Immediately."

"Does this mean you get to sleep?"

Mycroft winced. "That bad?"

"If you have to ask…"

"I understand. Thank you for your help. You really did not have to…"

"Thank me when it's all over," _Ares _stated. "Preferably with a trip to the country side."

Mycroft smirked. "Noted."

"And then give yourself a few days off."

"Bossy aren't you?"

"Well, you earned it boss," _Ares_ said.

"If only those words were the truth, my good wizard. I will only truly rest when I die."

The green eyed man snorted. "That's morbid, even for you mister British Government."

Mycroft chuckled. "The transfer, _Ares_?"

The wizard snapped his phone shut, his fast fingers had been doing the transaction while chatting with the influential man. "Done," he reported and Mycroft visibly relaxed.

"I'll tell the secret services to make their move. The and…"

_Ares_ watched as the man who employed him started giving orders, to him, the army, the secret services, the rest of the personnel and slowly the threat was taken care of. Six hours later they ended the protocols for High Alert First Degree to Second and after nearly two and a half days, _Ares_ greeted his bed with a satisfied sigh of relief.


	7. Vices

The green eyed wizard entered Mycroft's office. The smell of tobacco hit him. His boss was standing, phone in one hand a cigarette in another and pacing up and down the expensive carpet. He stood still, marvelling at the sight of the man in such an obvious state of stress. This did not bode well for the rest of the day. To have Mycroft in such a state before nine o'clock in the morning meant that someone had made a terrible mistake.

''... And after you finish with the buyout I want a full report about the assets... No, not a penny more than the original agreement... Well then you should remind Mister Cruz that he is not in a position to barter,'' Mycroft declared before ending the call. He then raised the cigarette to his mouth. Soon enough smoke filled the room. The green eyed man's belief that the day would be trying was cemented. Mycroft had been trying to quit smoking and he had succeeded for a month. To fall back to old habits meant that someone was probably a dead man walking and that he would be in for a lot of paperwork. He hated idiotic people more than his boss on days like this.

"How is the weather in Peru?" the wizard asked, making his presence known.

"Precarious, my dear _Antony_," Mycroft replied, using the name the green eyed man had chosen for that day. It was getting a bit tiring, having to keep up with the name changing but so terribly amusing.

"Should I lend a hand?"

Mycroft exhaled another cloud of smoke. "Not needed. I have a team on standby. By morning there will be one less aspiring dictator."

"And two more to go?"

"Rome was not built in a day."

"A jib at my name? You must be feeling better."

Mycroft's lips turned upwards, forming a genuine smile. ''It is surprisingly dull; I tried to make it something more.''

"I felt like being dull today. Second packet, sir?"

''Trying day _Antony_.''

''It's barely noon.''

Mycroft grimaced. ''People were surprisingly idiotic today, it called for two packets of these," he waved his little cigarette around before bringing it to his lips again. "Is the problem that you don't smoke, something I very much doubt, or that you haven't had one yet? Because I am certain that you will soon be as agitated by stupidity as I am."

_Antony _grinned. ''The second. It is a public building here, I'm going to try and abide by the law.''

''And here I am, dragging you to commit unlawful acts,'' Mycroft commented, extending his very expensive silver case towards the wizard. ''We have time for one guilty indulgence before we are called to tackle the next crisis.''

"So, you chose smoking? Why not something healthier?"

"Like eating chocolate?" Mycroft asked rather pointedly. He had seen what _Antony _did when he was stressed. The paper wrappers at the bin had been rather telling and too many for it to be healthy.

The wizard shrugged. "It's good for serotonin levels," he replied, a tad defensively and more than mischievously.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow challengingly. "Really?"

"What's your excuse for smoking?"

"Makes me look sophisticated."

_Antony_ chuckled. "Honestly?"

Mycroft smiled as another cloud of smoke joined the air they were breathing. The wizard took the case and declined the lighter, lighting the stick with his magic. It made Mycroft arch an eyebrow but other than that, the man did not react much.


	8. Sleuth

**Title:** Name Confused

**Author:** enchanted nightingale

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Summary: **What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock, nor the characters from them and I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**8. ****Sleuth**

* * *

Slow days were so few and far in-between in Mycroft Holmes' busy schedule, a luxury really and a sort of curse, according to the man. This meant they were even fewer similar days in his wizard employee's life. When they came they had to be scheduled till the last second, stolen moments, seldom when they were a few days in a row when nothing would happen, like when there was no major economic crisis in the Euro zone, no bombings in Baghdad, no coups in Africa, just quiet and peace.

Those days Mycroft would not go into his office, instructing his secondary secretaries to manage the mail and workload while he told the green eyed wizard that shadowed him to take a break as well, refill his batteries before returning (because slow days were followed by near apocalyptic incidents that had them busy and sleepless for days on end).

Then Mycroft would retire, either to his town house in London, or the Holmes cottage an hour away from Cardiff (Wales is not very big).(his brother never liked the house and his mother did not care for the weather so the dwelling was always available to Mycroft), and then he would eat and sleep and smoke to his heart's content, read a book or see a movie but never leave home or seek other company, not even that of his brother's. Those were the days that the man that held the reins of the British Government sought some quiet, grabbed the kind of solitude that allowed him to rest his brilliant mind and let down his all powerful face. He could relax and be himself and be certain that no one would take advantage of his quirks and likes. It was his version of a holiday.

Afterwards, when the frenetic workload of his usual, everyday life greeted him after his little escape from the real world, Mycroft was back to his element, back to dieting (and unfortunate by-product of a not very active life and comfort food as a means to relieve stress) and back to trying to quit smoking. It was funny even to Mycroft when he pondered just how ridiculous this ritual was yet the brilliant man would not change his holiday schedule for the world.

During those rare quiet days, Mycroft's assistant disappeared for a while and Harry Potter made an appearance again. He would walk in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, he would see old friends (the very few that stayed behind), seek out his old teachers (a couple that had stayed in their original homes, those who sought out the Muggleborns), spend time with his godson (over phone or other means because Teddy was safe at the other side and still hero worshipped Harry). Mycroft's nameless assistant had an identity again and mostly that was for the sake of others and less for his own. Those days Harry Potter realized that he preferred anonymity, obscurity, being lost in the background, further behind the darkness that shrouded Mycroft Holmes. For Harry Potter vacation time started as soon as he wore his suit, took out his blackberry and stepped up behind Mycroft.


	9. Umbrellas

**Title:** Name Confused

**Author:** enchanted nightingale

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Summary: **What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock, nor the characters from them and I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**9. Umbrellas**

* * *

They paused outside the store and the green eyed wizard hesitated. He turned to his employer however reluctantly.

"This is it?"

Mycroft turned to his assistant. "Yes _Rain_, this is the place."

"An umbrella shop?"

"Not just any umbrella shop," Mycroft replied turned the knob, stepping inside the store. Both men ignored the jingle of the bell over them.

_Rain _looked around the store. It was narrow and long and it reminded the former Gryffindor of Ollivander's shop back in Diagon Alley. There were many boxes and displays, the smell of varnish and wood assaulting his senses. They were there because Mycroft had a liking for umbrellas. Sure, they made great accessories, especially when it rained, but Mycroft gave it a whole other level. Umbrellas in black (and rarely in very deep navy blue) were what he held whenever he walked or went anywhere. There was no briefcase or bag. There was a day when Mycroft had forgotten his watch, but the umbrella he had taken, much to the green eyed wizard's amusement.

"Mycroft, back again?" the owner of the store smiled heartily at the man who was the British Government.

Mycroft gave an honest smile at the man. Nathaniel Bradfort was a man near Mycroft's height. He was in his sixties and his eyes were dark like chocolate. He was also one of the few people who were not scared about talking back to the eldest of the two Holmes siblings. And Mycroft liked him enough to ignore any perceived disobedience. The man handcrafted the umbrellas he made.

And _Rain_, as the wizard was called that day, knew that the umbrellas did more than shelter Mycroft from the weather. He knew for a fact that some of them had blades coming out from the tips, a weapon and protective measure in case Mycroft was left without cover. Not that it would happen, _Rain _thought. The green eyed man was good at what he did and he would protect Mycroft Holmes with everything he had. He shook away those errant thoughts and focused at the scene ahead from him as Mycroft was given a demonstration about the new collection.

The two men talked about patterns and features and how the handle of the umbrella should be in the same way Ollivander talked about wands or _Rain_ discussed guns. It was an odd sight and the wizard thought that this was one of the few pleasures and peaceful pastimes Mycroft Holmes had. It gave a sort of insight to the man.

"Nathaniel, for the hundredth time," Mycroft drawled, "Grey is unflattering. I want to stick to black."

The craftsman sighed. "Maybe the tall, dark shadow of yours can help me out here," he told Mycroft.

"I will take no part in this," the wizard declared.

Nathaniel advanced with a pattern sample book and a smile.

_Rain _turned at his employer. "I'm not getting an umbrella," he stated. "Do you have any idea what image we would make if we walked down the street or better yet into the office carrying umbrellas?"

"Like any Londoner?" Nathaniel piped up, making the other two glare. "Fine! Fine! I just thought green eyes here might need some added protection."

"I'm protected enough," the wizard declared.

"And I'll just take the black one," Mycroft announced.

Nathaniel sighed. "But of course," he said while he swiftly hid away what looked suspiciously like purple.

Once they exited the shop and swiftly walked into the car awaiting for them both Mycroft and _Rain_ sighed. Finally the wizard spoke.

"At least he did not try and make us take the red coloured ones," he said to his boss.

"We do not need a bigger target on us," Mycroft declared and _Rain_ nodded.


	10. Near Miss

**Title:** Name Confused

**Author:** enchanted nightingale

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Summary: **What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock, nor the characters from them and I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**10. Near Miss**

* * *

They had been leaving Downing Street with the car. Neither of them had been paying any attention to the road as they were both busy making phone calls. Mycroft especially was quite agitated. As much as he dealt with politics, dealing with politicians always left him feeling irritated. His wizard bodyguard and assistant was multitasking again, doing all that he could to save Mycroft time while working from his phone and that was what saved them, his skills. He had been about to turn to Mycroft, giving him a run down of what he had done when he caught sight of it, a glow. Trained to spot a Snitch had been ingrained into him and after so long he had an eye for spotting the winged balls. This now extended for red beams from rifles and spotting things that should not be there, like the errant sniper aiming to kill; his wizard talent reacted fast, using skills and muscles and speed and tackled Mycroft easily to the ground just as an array of bullets pelted the spot they had previously been standing at.

Mycroft was shocked at the sound of gunfire and turned to his assistant and bodyguard with inquiries on his face.

"_Peter..."_

"The building across from us," the wizard replied. "Three hundred yards, up on the twentieth floor, I see him."

Then another rapid sound came and Mycroft was pushed to the ground, his body easily covered by the muscled frame of his green eyed assistant. He felt like a century had passed during which time he could do nothing but wait for the firing to be over and done with, then he would act, he privately vowed to himself and heads would roll. The man who was the British Government absently noticed that his protector jerked at some point and he felt warmth, external warmth. His brilliant mind connected the clues immediately, realising the warmth was blood and the jerk was because the wizard had been shot. He tried to turn, tried to speak, but the wizard, _Peter_ for the day, shushed him.

"I'm fine, keep still," the green eyed man ordered in a calm voice. "They have one more round."

Mycroft looked around and noticed with a sense of detached horror that the usual driver he employed was lying a few feet away in a pool of blood. That several more people were laid out on the street, unmoving. True to the wizard's prediction, another round of fire happened then and nothing. It was the calm before the panic set in and the people all around started screaming and yelling. Sirens from police cars and ambulances filled the air.


	11. The Tie

**Title:** Name Confused

**Author:** enchanted nightingale

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Summary: **What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock, nor the characters from them and I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**11. The Tie**

* * *

He walked into the building calm and collected but the wizard was not at his side, not that he was unprotected. He was now away from the prone bodies of innocent bystanders, civilians, and the security personnel (not necessarily his own security) that had been caught unawares. He fended of the curious ones who just had to know how many people had suffered, he tried to calm the frantic ones and at the same time reached the meeting he was supposed to be in. Several people greeted him on the way back. Most wanted to know who was the target as there had been several politicians on scene. Others, the precious few that knew the importance of Mycroft Holmes for the running of the country, also knew that he had been the true target of the attack and they worried about him. Mycroft set all of them straight, calmed them down and directed them to more productive things, like their own work and appointed tasks. After all there was a country to run and peace to preserve and that took precedence, even in the face of an assassination attempt.

Mycroft was calm and collected because he had to be. He did not feel as guilty as many people though he would feel or should feel for the people killed instead of him, those nameless strangers or the faces he knew. He had decided long ago, when he first set his sights on the position he had now that if he was to order people's deaths then he should be able to stomach seeing the bodies, the results of his actions. He had seen dead bodies before, he had also killed with his bare hands before (that kidnapping attempt of his youth that he had escaped relatively unscathed as far as body wounds went, with the blood of his assailant staining his sixteen year old hands) and he knew better than to show how ruffled he was. Weaknesses were not to be shown in public when one was a Holmes or when one was practically named the 'British Government'.

The moment he was behind closed and secure doors, hours after the event, and in the privacy of his office he had the chance to read the one SMS his sibling had sent him. A few words:

_Still alive you controlling bastard? SH_

He had replied then, texting back because he knew that if he actually called his brother, he would be ignored. No, Mycroft thought that in situations like this he did not need to speak.

_Lousy shots the lot of them. MH_

_Liar. SH_

_Just get something to eat Sherlock._

_You did not sign your text, do so in the future. SH_

_And I do eat. SH_

_Now leave me alone and go back to ruling the world. SH _

After that there had been no need to reply back. Still, Mycroft enjoyed the brief cease fire from his younger brother, the only sign that the ridiculous rivalry with Sherlock could be set aside for a few seconds on an occasion as grim as this one.

And in that precious privacy Mycroft finally allowed the chilling thought of death to seize him. He had changed earlier, tore off his body the blood stained suit he wore, from the jacket to the trousers and the messed up shirt. He had balled those up and chucked them in a bag for the green eyed assistant of his to destroy; Mycroft knew how protective wizards were of their blood. What he had kept on, his refusing to toss away was the tie, the dark blue piece of silk cloth, permanently and forever stained by blood. Sitting on his chair and staring at it made Mycroft remember the wizard's body on his, jerking as the bullets found an obstacle to their target. He remembered that there were people out there, willing to die for him, for what he represented. He remembered that sacrifices would be made but not all of them were acceptable. He remembered his driver, the man's two children from the file he had read and the perky wife. There would be actions taken to help the family, he absently nodded. He had planned for such occasions.

His mind went back to his assistant. Then again, some sacrifices, Mycroft thought, were plainly unacceptable. He stared at the tie some more before putting it away in one of his drawers. This one he would keep; a reminder of this day and a warning for the future, privately wishing never to have a repeat of this again, but knowing the futility and naivety of such a thought.


	12. A Matter Of Pride

**Title:** Name Confused

**Author:** enchanted nightingale

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Summary: **What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**12.** **A Matter Of Pride**

He had gotten used to the tender mercies… treatment of doctors and medi-wizards and healers being on his hide, worrying about him and his injuries. He had a lot of time to get used to them as he had met up with death too many times while using various names, Harry Potter, Lord Black, Matthias, John, Sebastian, and now Peter. There had been other aliases, other missions but they no longer mattered. What mattered was that he now how to endure a bullet getting out of him, the graze being healed and the hole in his upper arm closing. Magic could only do so much and he only had Muggle's at hand. He went to the hospital, just like Mycroft had ordered him, got the talk from the doctors and nodded at all the right points, refused their offers to drug him up and walked out half an hour later. He was a man on a mission and he only had twenty four hours, forty eight tops, to find out who had pointed a gun barrel at his boss, who had gotten so close as to even attempt this.

The green eyed wizard was like a panther stalking his prey as he employed every means he had, magical and Muggle to get his self appointed mission done. He found the sniper relatively easily. A woman called Janine Cold, her real name no longer an issue. She had been employed by an International crime syndicate, money paid half up front with the remaining half after the job was done. She gave him names, actually, he took the names from her mind, _Legilimency_ was a handy skill to have. He did not bother with finesse and subtlety when it was not called for. He left her mind shattered and had no guilt about doing so. He dropped her off at a certain hospital for the mentally ill, a facility that worked closely with the entire staff of Mycroft Holmes. They never asked any questions, just gathered up the presents he left. Whether Mycroft would have them killed or allow them to live on, as vegetables, was not the wizard's business.

With names and information he set out to track down the real people responsible. It was not a long chain, as he had first feared. And not surprisingly it had everything to do with Mycroft's position as the British Government and everything to do with a picture they had taken of his boss with one of the politicians they had gotten in their pocket to ease up the elections in a remote Asian country. The syndicate had plans and Mycroft had disrupted them. The green eyed wizard set to work then rooting out those who had seen Mycroft's face and knew of his position in the government. He was quite thorough with his work, he had to be. He found out all six people involved in this scheme, questioned them further to see whether they knew something more; whether their plan involved another. By the end of the thirty two hours he had names, plans and all available photos and information on his boss. The clean up was swift and brutal and as a personal bonus to his skills, the wizard made it look like an accident, wiped the memories of those he did not kill and walked away with enough information to blackmail the syndicate should they need to, and they would need it sometime in the future.

He walked into Mycroft Holmes' office before the forty eight hours ended and the man just arched an eyebrow at him.

"My lord _Vengeance_, is your work done?" Mycroft asked.

"Read your mail already?" the wizard teased. But as he did so he handed his boss a manila folder, no words outside but the stamp with the words '_ D_'. "And yes, I was successful. All details are inside plus a bonus present for you, for all the … grief they caused."

"Blackmail material?" Mycroft's lips quirked.

"Blackmail material," the raven haired man agreed.

Mycroft nodded. "You are quite thorough."  
"Compliments again, boss?"

"I'm in a good mood today," the other man replied. His eyes strayed on the wizard's torso. "Did you…?"

"See to my wound? I did," the green eyed male confirmed.

"Good. Now hand me that file, I want to see how useful my present is. And Harry…"

The wizard tensed; the name he had not heard his boss utter in a long while. He had frankly not expected to hear it from Mycroft as the man was quite accommodating of his name changing quirk.

"Thank you," Mycroft simply commented. "You did not have to do this."

"Protecting you is my job."

"Payback isn't."

Harry smiled. "That… It was a matter of pride sir. They got too close and it should not have happened." He grew serious. "And it will not if I can help it. I was remiss in my duties. In the future, I'll nip this at the bud."

Mycroft nodded. "Yes," he said, thinking of the bloodstained tie he had kept. "It had better not happen again."


	13. Ms Cowel and Mister Patterson Notice

**Title:** Name Confused

**Author:** enchanted nightingale

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Summary: **What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock, nor the characters from them and I do not make any money from the writing of this story

* * *

**13. Ms Cowel and Mister Patterson Notice Things**

* * *

Being a secretary to an important man was a big deal and at times a tiring and demanding work. Everything had to be strictly organized and predicted, from the time they would get their boss his coffee to the phones he received to knowing when not to disturb, when to lie and when to take initiative. They were always on time, always dressed impeccably, always willing to keep the order of the office. They had no idea exactly what kind of man Mycroft Holmes was, what exactly he did in the British Government. They had seen people coming and going. They knew there were armed guards around. And they knew that before they got their jobs, they had been thoroughly checked. Heck, they were ex military themselves, removed from active duty due family obligations and grievous injuries that did not allow them back out there. Being pencil pushers (there was no other word for it) was not as bad considering there were worst posts to be stationed at. There was enough drama and danger here and enough paperwork to remind them of the army. They did not mind though, not with the pay-check they received. They liked working for Mycroft Holmes though they loathed the man himself when things were stressed out. He had a way of wording things that you just knew that what he asked, was not optional.

What was strange about their work, they had agreed on that easily, was the man who shadowed Mycroft Holmes. Now, That was a man they could not read, even less than the boss. He was slick like a shadow, knew everything they knew and all things they did not and could not even guess. The man was also nameless, a fact they found odd. They had heard Holmes address him with different names on separate occasions and half the time the names were outrageous and obviously fake, all part of the man's mystery. Ms Cowel knew enough about fashion to tell good quality clothes like the clothes the green eyed man wore. They were expensive and usually no one on public pay-check could afford them. The gadgets he had, that phone of his had to be custom made, Mister Patterson had deduced because it looked nothing like other phones he had seen.

When the shooting happened, they had heard that he had been injured, hearsay mostly, but later, two days later, when the green eyed man had walked in, he looked cool and collected and like he had never been hurt, making the two secretaries not know what to believe. The gossip in the office had a life of its own and speculation ran rampant, even to the point that there were rumours the man that shadowed Mycroft Holmes was a robot. The reaction of the green eyed man to those rumours had been a quirk of the lips as he passed them by on his way out.

"Not staying idle, are you?" he asked quite scathingly, making the chattier and bolder ones blush and stammer. Then his eyes slid towards Ms Cowel and Mister Patterson and cocked to the side. "You two… you were SAS, right?"

They both nodded, wordlessly.

"Hm, keep up the good work," he commented. "And maybe an eye on that door," he added. Then he left.

It was how Ms Cowel and Mister Patterson came to the conclusion that the mysterious name changing, green eyed man was if nothing else loyal to the boss. And that loyalty was inspiring as well as the confidence the nameless man had for them when he practically asked them to keep an eye on Mycroft Holmes if all else failed to protect the man. And they would, keep an eye that is.


	14. DI Lestrade

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Sherlock do not belong to me. I only use them in my plot for fun and do not profit from this.

* * *

**14. DI Lestrade**

* * *

Meeting with Mycroft Holmes was an experience for Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. He had been walking away from a crime scene, Sherlock had long since vanished like the whirlwind that he was, leaving him with many answers even to questions he had not thought to ask (and that had been admittedly annoying and at the same time impressive), when a large black car, as non descript as a luxury car could be, slid up next to him and the window rolled down, revealing a green eyed man wearing glasses, texting away in his phone with a smile in his face.

"Pleasant evening DI Gregory Lestrade, please step in the car," the unknown man said.

Greg hesitated. He normally would have not even considered the request and not just because of the stranger equals danger factor he was trying to teach his kids, or even the good old common sense he had. But because the tone of the man was the same one his old drill instructor at the Police Academy used, Greg actually stopped to consider.

"It is a pleasant evening, but if you want to talk you could always step out," the DI suggested. Not eager to get in a car with a stranger. Surrounded by police officers he felt safe and empowered. He somehow could tell that if he entered that car there would be trouble.

"It was not a suggestion, DI Lestrade," the green eyed man said, finally looking up from his phone.

There was something in those green eyes that made Greg shiver. The door was opened for him.

"Get in," was the order for the third time delivered in such a tone that the DI knew he could not ignore.

The DI hesitated again and the green eyed man whipped out a card that declared he was from the Prime Minister's office. It could be a fake, a long shot that one, but Greg could not chance that. He got inside the car and was driven for the better part of an hour. All his questions had been buffered by the green eyed, bespectacled man who kept his mouth shut whenever their destination was brought up; save that annoyingly knowing smile he shot at Greg.

"And what is your name?" the DI asked at some point.

"Silence," the green eyed man replied.

"You want me to stop talking or… Your actual name is 'Silence'?"

The green eyed man smiled. "We're here," he announced and the car stopped. "He's waiting for you."

"Who is he?" Greg asked.

"You don't want to keep him waiting," _Silence_ insisted and the DI supposed the strange man would be right. So he exited the car and walked further inside the warehouse he found himself in. It was like the set of a movie really and quite the spooky place but he refused to show how uncomfortable he felt.

Further ahead was the figure of a man, seated in a simple chair, with an umbrella hanging from the backrest, and another empty chair waiting at his side. The man was nothing remarkable really and the smile he had on his face while pleasant was a sign of trouble to come. Greg felt a shiver.

"DI Greg Lestrade?" the stranger asked.

"Yes?"

"Do have a seat. I have matters I want to talk to you about, regarding one Sherlock Holmes."

Greg tensed. "What about him?"

"I'm a man who worries about him."

"That's a shock, why do you care about him?" Greg demanded, a bit defensively on behalf of the antisocial (who was he kidding, Sherlock had no social skill, at all) but terrifying brilliant youth. Lately Sherlock had been pale and obviously not sleeping or eating enough and Greg was of half the mind to seek the kid out. He was also suspicious that the youth was abusing substances but so far could not prove that.

"You care about him," the stranger commented. "That makes my job easier."

"And what is your job?"

"I told you DI Lestrange, I worry about Sherlock, like every older brother worries about his errant younger siblings, especially when they are as curious as cats."

Greg was left staring. "You are Sherlock's brother? Sherlock has a brother?" Inside he was even more shocked that there were more of them running around London. He felt out of sorts.

"Mycroft Holmes; pleased to make your acquaintance."

Greg sat in the offered chair.

Mycroft continued to smile. "Now, let's discuss my younger brother."

The DI groaned.


	15. Tailored to Fit

**Title:** Name Confused

**Author:** enchanted nightingale

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Summary: **What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock, nor the characters from them and I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**15. Tailored to Fit**

* * *

"Back again Caradoc?"

"Missed me yet Mr. J?" the green eyed wizard cheekily asked.

The young man, Mr. J to his friends but always James Isaac Bode to his father, smiled, his brown eyes warm. He was a handsome man. Harry had met J out on the pull (only slept together a handful of times till they decided they were best off as friends). Still, J came around the counter and hugged _Caradoc_ warmly, pecking his lips on top of it.

"You look amazing," J commented and the wizard thanked him.

"Break it off you two!" Aaron Bode came from his workshop, looking tired but impeccably dressed in clean clothes. The tailor that made most of _Caradoc'_s suits and lately an order or two for Mycroft, had no real trouble with gay people and he even liked the raven haired wizard (he was less gruff around him). "This is a business," he stated. "If you want to kiss do so in your time off."

J smirked. "Sure pops!" he said and released _Caradoc, _before winking at the green eyed bodyguard, who took it all in a stride.

He was ushered inside the fitting room where he was told to strip to his underwear.

"I have everything on your order list ready," Aaron muttered, "Just some final attention to detail here and there."

"I've got time," _Caradoc_ assured the man. It was one of his rare days off.

"Hm, that man the other time, was he your boss?" Aaron asked.

The green eyed man shook his head. "Not really," he lied easily.

"Odd man, just like you," Aaron commented.

"Good odd or bad odd?" the man being fitted asked.

"Still haven't decided," the tailor commented.

The wizard nodded. "Is Isaac joining the business?" he changed the subject.

"Actually, he's taking over the shop. Next time he'll take your measurements, I'll be watching just in case."

"Hoping to retire?" _Caradoc _asked.

"Well, it's about time really. The missus wants me home," Aaron replied. "All done. You really have not changed much, weight wise," he commented.

"I try to be careful," the wizard replied.

"Go out, drink some coffee, keep your hands off my son; I'll get the order ready for you in ten minutes or so."

The green eyed wizard nodded, amused at the man's reasoning. Right then his phone went off, alerting him to a text message from Mycroft.

_The new bodyguard is an idiot. MH_

The wizard smirked.

_Then stop baiting him. Caradoc_

_New name? MH_

_New Day. Caradoc_

_When are you coming back? MH_

_I need the files about Daisy. MH_

The wizard sighed. He was about to answer as he joined the general area of the shop when he saw just who was waiting there.

"You," the detective spotted him immediately.

"Hello, Sherlock," the wizard greeted.

"You are one of his," the youngest of the Holmes siblings commented with obvious disdain.

"Name's Caradoc," the green eyed man offered.

Sherlock snorted. "I just bet."

"You know each other?" Isaac asked.

The wizard smiled and his fingers worked on the phone in his hand.

"In a way," he said while he quickly typed to his boss.

_Did you know Sherlock and I have the same tailor? Caradoc_

_Is he being difficult? MH_

"Are you texting my brother?" Sherlock rightly guessed.

"Yes," the wizard replied. There was no need to lie and Sherlock would understand if he did so.

The genius scoffed.

J stared. "Are you sure there's no problem?" he asked the green eyed man.

"We're adults, of a sort," _Caradoc _said. "We can deal."

This time Sherlock rolled his eyes, making the wizard smile.

"You are welcome to ignore Sherlock, Isaac," the green eyed man told the tailor's son.

James blinked. "If you're sure..."

"Oh! For my sanity's shake! Stop pining after him!" Sherlock remarked, making J start and splutter. "I can tell you two slept together! It's obvious!"

J turned to _Caradoc_. "He's got to be joking, right?"

"Not really," the wizard replied. "He's surprisingly accurate, better than a fortune teller without the predictions, based only on evidence and science."

Sherlock and J both stared at the green eyed man.

"He's harmless, really," _Caradoc _added.

Sherlock took offence to that and the wizard spent the rest of his time trying to ignore Mycroft's brother and keep the peace between him and J. When he finally left Aaron's shop he had a headache and a mental note to keep track of Sherlock so they did not meet up in the tailor's again.


	16. Diet and Other Monday Tasks

**Title:** Name Confused

**Author:** enchanted nightingale

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Summary: **What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock, nor the characters from them and I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**16. Diet and Other Monday Tasks**

* * *

"Start," Mycroft asked. His morning coffee was in a cup, steam coming out from it.

Alfred, the name the wizard had chosen for the day, stood with his PDA ready and a mildly threatening grin on his face.

It was a ritual that never failed to amuse the green eyed man, because no matter how much they planned, Mycroft's schedule could never be followed to the letter.

"You've got a lunch date with the Prince today on two. Up until then we have to review our budget. Statterfield is trying to cut us down again and he's being bothersome,' Alfred narrated.

"Statterfield is always bothersome," Mycroft remarked. "Carry on please."

"On five you have to meet your dietician," here the wizard smiled and Mycroft glared him with a warning look.

"Do not look so happy."

"I'm not, happy that is," the other man said. "I just cannot understand your little... habit." It was an obsession really, dieting. He never would be worried about this, not with the childhood he had had and the body he had to maintain. Mycroft, according to his opinion, was fine the way he was, certainly not fat certainly not in need of a diet. "I just do not think this appointment has merit."

Mycroft smiled. "Complimenting me now?"

"How about I just continue reading your schedule? I believe you have quite the day ahead of you, a day that also consists of having dinner with your mother."

Mycroft winced. "Didn't I cancel on her...?"

"Last week? Yes you did."

"Call the florist for me?" the most powerful man in the UK asked with all the dignity of a wet cat.

The green eyed wizard grinned. "Roses?"

"Pink ones, she loves those best."

"I'm on it!"

Mycroft sighed. "You don't need to sound so pleased."

The wizard grinned and said nothing, but that said it all.

"You are getting cheekier Alfred," Mycroft remarked.

"Do you want me to tone it down?"

"Just keep doing your job," the man commented and tried to ignore the amused grin on the wizard's face or the one on his face. It was a slow day, a happy and carefree day, one of the rare ones and he was glad for it.


	17. Getting Ready for the day

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Sherlock do not belong to me. I only use them in my plot for fun and do not profit from this.

* * *

**17. Getting Ready for the day**

* * *

He counted out loud.

"Fifty!"

"Fifty one!"

"Fifty two!"

He pushed harder to finish his laps. It was still early, five o clock, maybe earlier. He still had plenty of time to get ready for the long day that he would have ahead of him. He stopped at sixty repeats, not bothering with more. He had already had his warm up and now he was pushing himself out of his pool. Kreacher was waiting for him, clean clothes ready to wear after he got out of the shower, a proper and hearty breakfast to eat and to keep him through the day.

"Master Harry should eat," Kreacher grumbled in his own way, worried about the wizard that he was looking after. He had chosen to stay here, in a world most magical had abandoned, sticking close to Harry. The aged creature was one of the few who still addressed the green eyed wizard with his given name, one of the few who knew him as Harry Potter, Lord Potter or Lord Black and not Mycroft Holmes nameless assistant.

It was one of the things Kreacher did not like about his master's new. He continuously grumbled and bemoaned the fact that 'Master Harry' was doing such a menial job, such a thankless job, a dangerous job that got him shot with those primitive weapons muggles liked to use.

Harry listened with a half smile as the poor elf ranted. Kreacher looked like he had taken lessons from Molly Weasley to make his rants. It was both amusing and scary.

"Thank you Kreacher," he told the house elf who merely nodded and went to collect all the wet towels.

Harry shook his head and used a spell to dry his hair, mussing them up. He then sat to check his mail, the one written on paper at least. He got mail, delivered once a week from his friends on the other side, drawings from Teddy and various news papers both from over there and here, magazines too. He leafed through them, with half an interest though not much. Nothing seemed to catch his interest.

"Master's suit is ready," Kreacher announced just as he popped back in the living room.

Harry had taken to having his breakfast there. He had remodeled all of Number Twelve, adding the pool, creating a garden and a sun room and adding all the modern luxuries of the muggle world while still keeping magic around him. This house was one of the few reminders of his past, one of the few blatantly magical places left in the world. Well, Harry mused that the wizards had been unable to move the pyramids of Stonehenge, the muggles would notice something so big and so famous disappearing. It was times like these that he felt well, left behind, by his friends and family, but then he remembered why he had wanted to stay behind. He loved being a nobody to most people. He loved not being stopped on the street, when he went to buy grocery or even underwear! He loved being no one, it was such a relief. While it was not the life he had ever imagined having, he was glad for it and for his current boss, Mycroft Holmes, for being willing to actually have him around him. Not because he was famous, but because he was so dangerous, so damn good at killing. And apparently that was one of the traits the man who was the British government approved as much as his multitasking skills and organizing traits.

"Master?"

Harry blinked and stared at the book Kreacher had readied for him, a book on names actually. It was on days when nothing happened, when he did not have a point to make or a reason to be cheeky with his boss, he would pick out a name from this book or the Internet.

Meanwhile, Kreacher started gathering the empty plates and glasses while the green eyed wizard contemplated what name to pick. He paused at a certain page.

"I feel like being a George today. What do you think Kreacher?"

"Master should be Master and use no other name," the house elf replied like clockwork.

Harry smiled and thanked the house elf. Then he went to get dressed, wearing his tailored suits and leather shoes and silk grey tie that helped put his mask on, the mask of a nobody who just happened to be a 'George' for the day.

He eyed his reflection one last time before he reached for his phone.

_Good morning sir. I felt like a George today._

Mycroft replied fast.

_Morning George. How dull of you. MH_

_I like dull. George_

_Be as dull as you want. MH_

Harry smiled. "Kreacher! I'm leaving!

With a pop the house elf was there. "Have a nice day sir."

When the green eyed wizard left Grimmauld Place he had a new name to face the day.


	18. Humming Bird

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**18. Humming Bird**

* * *

"…_Stars shining bright above you  
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"  
Birds singing in the sycamore trees  
Dream a little dream of me_…"

Mycroft stared. They were in the limo, heading to his office after yet another long, boring but tense meeting. The green eyed wizard was seated next to him, humming as he typed away, giving all the right orders to the SAS in Iraq. The man who was the British government was pleasantly surprised. The wizard's voice was deep and smooth.

"…_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you  
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you_…"

The humming was clear and some of the well known lyrics would slip through. It was not bad; he decided after a while and let the wizard continue doing it, allowing the hum to relax him some. It was better than being in Diogenes Club, he absently decided as he focused on the lively city he could see out of the car windows.


	19. Watchful Eye

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

** Watchful Eye**

* * *

The phone beeped and Mycroft's green eyed bodyguard frowed at the sender's name. Early on he had programmed DI Lestrade into his list of contacts. He was to be the go between whenever the DI had trouble with Sherlock. Apparently, the wizard had been frowning for too long because Mycroft took notice.

"What is it?" he asked the green eyed bodyguard.

The wizard hesitated just for a moment. "It's a text from DI Lestrade," he revealed.

Mycroft's sigh was telltale. "What has Sherlock gotten into this time?"

The other man met Mycroft's eyes. "Drugs," he replied and watched the shock and disbelief color Mycroft's face. "The DI had tried everything but he has had no luck. He wants us to interven. Lestrade writes that he has more information for me. Shall I meet him?"

"Yes," Mycroft said, his face unusualy blank. "I want to know everything."

"Very well sir."

* * *

Greg Lestrade had been at his wits end when he gave in and texted the number on the otherwise blank card he had beengiven months ago after he had beeen practically kidnapped by the green eyed man. He finally gave in and called when all his usual methods of trying to get through to Sherlock had failed. He had tried talking to the young genius but Sherlock would not listen to a man he thought not as smart as himself (how a smart man like Sherlock had done such a dumb thing as take drugs when even stupid people knew not to take them, the DI had noidea). Holmes had said he was doing an experiment, smoking first, more hardcore substances later. Lestrade had done as much as he could, he had even gotten on the narcotics' field, busting a number of dealers he knew Sherlock used. he had always been one step behind the young genius and now. Greg really did not want to fid Sherlock with a needle sticking from his arm or in a ditch, that was not the end the youth should have. So he had spend twenty minutes writing the text on his brand knew mobile, detailing as much as he could about Sherlock's predicament and asking for help. Then he had felt out of shorts for the rest of the day up until after his shift ended and he had been heading for his car, still thinking about the brilliant Sherlock Holmes when a vehicle intercepted his path. Teh window rolled down and Lestrade was startled to see green eyes again.

"_Silence,"_ he greeted the man.

"Actually, its _Breen_ today. Please get in, DI LEstrade. We need to talk," teh green eyed man said, being unsusually vocal.

Greg did not stick on details. he did as he was asked and when he was told to speak and explained he opened his mouth and explained everything. he even handed over the files he had gotten on Sherlock, his haunts, his dealers, even the places that sold all the right ingredients where the genius could get the ingredients on his own. It was a thick file and not all that legally put together but Greg had not cared, he still did not.

"Well done," _Breen_ told him, voice grave. "I'll be keeping these for the moment."

"what about Sherlock?" Lestrade demanded. "How are you going to help him?"

"Sherlock... He's to stubborn. Confronting him might do more harm than good," the green eyed man commented. "We will be watching over him now. That is not to say that we would not appreciate if you also kept an eye on him. He is more likely to listen to you."

"Hasn't so far," Greg admitted bitterly.

"Hope springs eternal."

"This is not the time to make jokes,_Breen," _Greg sneered at the fake name.

"Frustration will do nothing for us."

"Well, I can't help but feel frustrated."

The green eyed man nodded. "We will act."

* * *

And act they did. For the next month, Lestrade observed as drug busts went up like never before, small fish and sharks alike beeing arrested even for parking tickets. The other officers were at a loss as to how and from who all the tips were comment, but everything was precise and clean and legal so no one questiones. And Greg continued to watch as Sherlock's usual suppliers were brought in. It was effective, he agreed. But he worried how long all this would last.


	20. Spider's Web

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Spider's Web**

* * *

Events like this… It was harder to blend in, fade in the background, no matter how much both Mycroft and his magical shadow wanted to. Their presence in such events was regular. They would eat and drink and mostly they would socialize with the aim to spin a web and draw potential victims in. No one really knew exactly what Mycroft did, not even those that prided themselves on being well informed. But when a duke or the prince (when the last attended such meetings) always visited Mycroft's side at least once to talk and joke with him that was the bait that drew the other insects in. It was a macabre game, the green eyed wizard always thought this, but just the same he watched with morbid fascination how Mycroft worked them to his tune. They needed connections if they wanted to stay well informed and into the thick of things.

The wizard usually adopted the attitude he used to on the parties thrown for his sake after the war. He smiled, he flirted and complimented and did a bit of his own socialising, establishing contacts with various people, from those in charge of the catering and the pianist to the bit overweight daughter of that Chinese diplomat or that timid trophy wife of the under secretary to the American embassy. He never went for the big fish; they had nothing to offer him that he could not get with money. Plus he could not stand the pretentious atmosphere for long and added to that, it was less suspicious for him to not be seen around the big names, those people were better handled by Mycroft anyway; that man could make them jump easily enough and he enjoyed it too.

It was two hours into the soirée that Mycroft managed to approach his employee.

"This evening is duller than I expected," the Muggle man remarked, making the green eyed man's lips quirk upwards.

"Like watching a documentary about wildlife," the wizard commented.

"Two predators in a field of sheep?" Mycroft asked.

"Oh, there are many predators here tonight," the green eyed man disagreed. "It just happens that we are also venomous."

Mycroft's eyes revealed just how amused he was by that comment. He had not thought of it before. He was a predator amongst many but he had to stand out somehow and the wizard's comment was spot on.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered," he finally settled for.

"You should," the wizard replied. "Because at the end of this evening we are walking way much richer than these idiots."

"You found something interesting," Mycroft stated.

"I guarantee you will like my morning report. Now excuse me, the pianist is about to take a break and young miss Patel is scanning the crowd for you. Her father is an oil tycoon, correct?"

"The only plus about her," Mycroft replied. "Wish me patience because clearly I have no luck."

The wizard offered a smirk and they parted ways.


	21. Stitched up

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Stitched up**

* * *

He was at the grocers, early Saturday morning ( Since the magicals migrated he had been doing the outside work, he could not just send the house elf out) when his phone rang. The green eyed wizard paused to consider. It was not Mycroft, his boss was at home currently, preparing to have brunch with his mother. It was not from the office either, no major catastrophe or glitch in his planning. That left one option really, he realised before he even spared the caller id a glance.

"How can I be of help Detective?" he asked Gregory Lestrade.

From the other end of the line the man appeared tired and exasperated and just a bit worried.

"I'm on my way," he said as soon as he heard what the detective had to say already abandoning his groceries and leaving the store.

He arrived at London Bridge Hospital on Tooley Street as soon as he was able to Apparate there. Lestrade was waiting for him at the reception.

"He's the greatest idiot I know," were Lestrade's first words.

"What happened?" the wizard demanded.

"I told you, he was on a case with me, don't ask me why, he just showed up there, took one look at the body and looked like my daughter when facing her birthday present. That said, what should I call you?"

"For today? _John_ will do," the green eyed man replied. "I want to see Sherlock."

"They had to sedate him a bit to pull the glass out."

"Glass?" John asked.

"He insulted the widow when he accused her of murder. What's worse is that he was might as well. We nearly lost her when she smashed a vase to his head," Lestrade admitted. "Sherlock tackled her despite the pain he was in."

"You sound impressed."

"I am, for a lanky guy he's quite fast."

As they neared the ward where Sherlock Holmes was being treated they heard the bickering. Simultaneously they groaned when they realised that the young genius was being his usual unbearable self.

"He sounds fine to me," Lestrade muttered silently under his breath but the wizard heard him quite well. Just as well he saw how the DI relaxed when he realised that Sherlock was going to be just fine. Whether the genius knew it or not, much less if he decided to acknowledge it, he had a friend in the DI.

"Lets us enter then," _John_ told Lestrade.

"He'll be furious I called you," Lestrade warned.

The wizard's lips quirked. "That's half the fun with him."

Lestrade sighed. "You are a weird one, you know?"

"I do, thank you," _John_ replied and walked into the ward.

Immediately Sherlock focused on him, disregarding the haggard doctor that had been treating him and the nurse that was there, looking exasperated at him.

"You called Mycroft dog?" Sherlock shot the DI a wounded look. It was gone the next second as he rounded a glare at the doctor. The wizard saw that the man was done applying stitches. The gash was not dip and it was on Sherlock's arm, not his head, as he had originally feared. Mycroft's younger sibling was bare chested as he sat waiting for the medic personnel to finish and the green eyed man had to frown.

"You're too thin," he commented.

"Food is boring," was the fast reply to his observation. "And you're wearing jeans instead of your usual three piece tailored suits. Having to baby-sit on your day off? Shame on you Detective for bothering this man," Sherlock said in one breath.

The wizard found the skill impressive but he had more pressing matters to attend to. He faced the doctor.

"Are you done?" he asked the man more sharply than he intended.

The man replied positively and handed him a prescription for antibiotics, just in case there was an infection and some pain killers.

"I don't need them," Sherlock said, shooting the prescription an odd look.

"The antibiotics or the pain relief?" Lestrade asked.

John though realised what Sherlock was afraid of. Pain killers like the new the good doctor had prescribed were low level narcotics and Sherlock was really, honestly trying to stay clean.

"You won't be getting them , then," the green eyed man replied. "Now get dressed. I'm buying brunch, to both of you."

"No need," Sherlock said as he stood.

"I can't let you do that," Lestrade argued.

But the wizard would have none of it.


	22. Smart Dog

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**22. Smart Dog**

* * *

All it took for Sherlock to agree with the treated meal was the admission that he would be using Mycroft's money. As for Gregory Lestrade, the wizard told the man the truth, that he wanted to pay him back for all his troubles that morning.

"Not even twelve and you had to bail him out of trouble," _John _said.

"Not literally," the DI pointed out.

"This time," the wizard replied. They both shared a smirk as they recalled a week prior that Sherlock had been locked up when he, in a fit of boredom, sat down with a strange couple in a restaurant and managed to analyse them both, revealing to each other the double life the woman led. A fight had broken out and the genius had ended locked up at the nearest precinct and the DI had been called with the wizard learning about it soon after. Mycroft had been busy and thoroughly un-amused by his sibling's escapades but he had given the money for the bail.

"You're not as funny as you think you are," Sherlock told the two as he turned back to his meal.

_John_ watched him eat. He had exactly the same posture Mycroft had when eating, down to the quirk he had with his fork when he was chewing, that slight tap on the plate, not enough to even make a sound, like a tick really. The times he had eaten with his boss the wizard had seen the man do this, however unconsciously, yet when they were out with strangers the quirk was absent. It was like this was the Holmes siblings' relaxed way of eating. It was almost amusing, almost. What was even more interesting was the way Sherlock's eyes were taking in everything in the cafe. Like he could not help but observe the giggling girls a table over or the old men sharing coffee and a newspaper, the barista behind the counter and even _John _and Lestrade.

"What do you find funny Sherlock, because I've known you for a year and I'm still wondering," Lestrade asked after he took a sip from his coffee.

"The fact that the girl that took our orders is having an affair with the owner's wife while also dating the barista," Sherlock replied. "Human stupidity never fails to amuse and exasperate me."

"How could you possibly know that?" the DI wondered.

Sherlock huffed at the police officer and turned to _John. _"Care to give it a try, Mycroft's lap dog?"

"He's got a name Sherlock," Lestrade groaned.

"One he keeps changing every damn time we meet. No one really knows what it is though I bet my not so dear brother knows, he's like me on that matter, can't stand mysteries and secrets. And as I know I'm not to be let in on their private joke yet I won't be bothered remembering every alias he cooks up," Sherlock stated. "And the name I gave him is derived by the description of his role in my brother's life. Quite apt, if I say so, which I do. So, can you guess Mister No Name?"

The wizard smiled. He debated whether he should use the information he had learned when he entered and skimmed over the topmost thoughts of the people around him (a security precaution he had when entering an unknown location so he would not encounter a threat). He could also deduct things without cheating, his mind was sharp and his observation skills had always been even sharper. he decided in the end not to cheat.

"She wears short sleeves and the name on the heart tattoo is the same as the name tag on the barista, plus he looks her like a puppy, lovesick and blind to her faults," the wizard began, enjoying the look of pleased surprise on Sherlock's face. "However, only smiles at him when he tries to get her attention. The rest of the time she tries to catch her boss' eyes. There was one instant when she was passing by and the barista was not looking that he groped her. He's married, wedding ring on his finger is quite obvious, as is the fact that he looks nervous and guilty whenever he does grope her, I'm guessing a first time adulterer. The girl has cheated before, she looks quite giddy doing it. She's in it for the sex not the gifts and other perks that come with dating an older man," _John _mused.

Lestrade was left staring.

"At least you're a smart dog," was all the praise Sherlock gave.

"Want more coffee?" the wizard replied and got a glare in return, courtesy of the young genius.

The DI shook his head as well, "No, I'm good, thanks."

"Suit yourselves. I better get going, the bill is covered gentlemen," the green eyed man said as he stood. "Sherlock, try not to antagonise people."

"She was the killer," the young Holmes stressed.

"All the same, tact is a wonderful ability to have, work on it, please," _John_ advised before leaving.

As he was exiting he heard Sherlock's last words, almost a whine towards Lestrade.

"Social formalities are tedious and dull," the young genius exclaimed.

"But save you from having vases thrown at you," Lestrade added.

The wizard shook his head and joined the crowd out on the streets. He then took out his phone and texted Mycroft.

_Guess who I just had brunch with? - John_

The reply came quickly.

_Where you pestered into marrying the last spinster in London? If not then you did not spend it with my mother._

The green eyed man smirked. His fingers quickly wrote the next text.

_Sherlock was delightful._

His boss' next text was almost sullen.

_You still had a better time._

The wizard laughed and pocketed the phone as he went about doing his grocery shopping.


	23. Pick Pocket

**Title:** Name Confused  
**Author:** enchanted nightingale  
**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Summary:** What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**23. Pick Pocket**

* * *

"That idiot!"

The green eyed wizard turned his head at Mycroft's rather loud hiss. Had it been another but his composed boss, various expletives would have followed but Mycroft just bit his lips and clutched his phone in a white knuckled grip. They were about to meet the Queen for a light lunch. She liked to be informed of the happening in the government and she also quite liked the Boy-Who-Lived. The invitation had come in his given name but the monarch was quite happy to address him by his chosen name for the day, which was _Donn._

He arched an eyebrow at Mycroft's outburst and his boss sighed and pocketed his phone.

"Trouble?" he asked.

"Sherlock," was all the older Holmes sibling said.

And _Donn _understood much from this. It was a quite wide range to cover too, from 'Sherlock got into trouble with the law' and 'He forgot to call mother again' (those two were on par for the Holmes family) to 'Sherlock cause a security glitch of the national kind' and 'he burned down his apartment, again'.

Mycroft caught the inquisitive look his assistant was giving him. "We had lunch two days ago where he actually sat down and ate with me. I should have known," he shook his head.

And _Donn_ understood. "He picked your pockets," he said, a bit amused. "What did he take? Credit cards? Identification?"

Mycroft scowled. "One credit card and one of the ID's I have to enter military hospitals. And no, I don't carry all of them with me; I just went to visit someone there."

"Not judging," the wizard replied. 'But... Doesn't that mean Sherlock needs money and he's not willing to see your mother to get them?"

"It does, yes," the man who was the British Government admitted.

"So, he sort of asked you for it, without actually asking you," _Donn _offered.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "That boy," he gritted out.

"It's sort of cute, how he came to you for help."

"He picked my pockets."

"And what would he say about this?" the green eyed man mused.

"That I should stop being so dramatic," Mycroft replied. He then took out his phone. "I'm giving him half an hour. After that I'm cancelling everything."

The wizard smiled. "Of course," he replied and handed in his report.


	24. Second thoughts

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the TV series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 24 - Second thoughts**

* * *

Slowly but steadily DI Lestrade started seeing his name in the papers, was assigned more cases and was even asked to give a press conference on a smuggling case he worked on. All that was a direct result of one Sherlock Holmes joining in his cases, sometimes even without being asked. He even got a promotion out of all of this and though he knew he did work hard, he sometimes felt like he was cheating. Sherlock Holmes had a scarily brilliant mind and most of the time Greg felt like he was lacking. Not that he was not capable of solving cases on his own. He had four times the bulk of cases Sherlock had joined in on and those had been solved by his merits alone. It was because the flashier ones were also the most difficult ones, where he and his team stumbled and had no leads as to how to continue. Those were also the cases that got him promoted. Like this one.

The Headlines on the paper he was holding were prime examples of that. His name, even his picture this time and underneath praises on how he solved yet another murder. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had tried to make Sherlock understand that he should at least take some credit in his work but the young genius was in one of his funks again were he was interested in nothing but excitement. Murders were too dull for him currently and he had turned Lestrade's calls away. He had a few parting words to give to him all the same.

"Of course credit is mine on those cases and to some degree to you because you actually came to me unlike that idiot colleague of yours, Baisley, now that is one stupid human specimen," the genius had said.

That had been a practical compliment by Sherlock's standards, though Lestrade would have preferred if the genius did not try his hand at breaking end entering, especially in his office at the Station. He nearly got a heart attack when he got there and found Sherlock snooping through his files. Following that he had realised that the man had also stolen his police identification badge. That had been a right headache he did not want to remember.

Briefly he had toyed with the idea of barring Sherlock from the scenes. He could even get him arrested. But quickly Greg had dismissed those thoughts. That would not be possible for numerous reasons, one of which was Sherlock not knowing the meaning of the word 'no'. The other had everything to do with the older Holmes sibling and that no name assistant of his that Greg both liked and hated. No, pushing Sherlock away was not an option. Still, the DI felt conflicted.

A sharp knock on his door drew his attention.

"Body fished out of Thames," his subordinate informed him. "Uniforms are already on the scene and the coroner on his way. Think this will be an easy one? That tall guy, the weird one, won't be turning up, right?"

"I hope so," Lestrade muttered as he stood.


	25. Overdose

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the TV series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 25 - ****Overdose**

* * *

It was the harsh reality they had accepted when the younger sibling of Mycroft started dabbling in opium and other mind altering substances. The proverbial clock had been ticking and when the alarm finally sounded it did not take them by surprise, not really.

They had been in Geneva when Mycroft's phone rang in the middle of a most important meeting. He had ignored the first call out of habit but when the second one came, this one more insistent than the first, followed after by a very brief message, Mycroft chanced a look at the screen of his phone and tried to stop the trembling of his hands and regulate his breathing. It was ages ago he managed to avoid facial expressions such as paling or flushing. This time it was a struggle do so. Still, he was surrounded by people who were not supposed to see him weak so Mycroft took a breath and fought down the urge to vomit from worry and fear and the sheer shock of it. He met his aide's eyes and forwarded the message he had received at him. The wizard started making plans immediately. Three hours later they were in London, waiting outside the emergency room of a very exclusive private clinic.

Greg Lestrade was there. Face ashen, clothes rumpled and his shirt collar bloody. It was then that Mycroft's composure was shot and the man had to pause briefly, one hand on the wall. The green eyed man that was just a step behind him, lingered closer. Not offering to help him up but ready just in case his courage left him.

"Greg," Sherlock's brother said.

The officer looked up.

"Oh! Thank God! You're here Mycroft!" the man said, not bothered by the fact that he was called by his first name or that he had used the other man's first name as well.

"How is he?" Mycroft asked. "I've been getting reports from the doctors but it's not nearly enough."

"They pumped his stomach down at the public hospital," Greg said even though Mycroft already knew that. It was an hour since then and Sherlock had slipped into a coma after his overdose. "I followed when he was transferred here. Just in case he woke up. Better have someone who knows him around so that the doctors don't try and kill him, you know how he is."

"I do," Mycroft muttered, now standing closer to the detective and outside his younger sibling's door.

Greg took in his appearance. He was dressed in expensive clothes as usual but his tie was slightly askew, as if he had fiddled with it a lot and Mycroft's eyes were if possible harder than ever.

"Do you want me to seek out the doctor's?" the wizard asked.

"No, I'll do it myself," Mycroft replied. He eyed Greg. "Are you leaving?"

"I called my wife, told her a friend is in the hospital. I'm staying for a while," the detective replied.

"Then I'll get us coffee, maybe something in it too," the green eyed man said and slinked away.


	26. The Waiting Game

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the TV series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 26 - The Waiting Game**

* * *

The walls were unlike most hospitals. There were colours, beiges, browns, greens. There were paintings and the floors were clean and the nurses pleasant and the doctors frequent. It was what Mycroft had paid for. Along with his assistant and Greg they had been waiting for two hours. Two long, gruelling hours while Sherlock was still unresponsive. Mycroft had heard everything the doctors had to say. They had done everything they could, given him naloxone to get the brain functioning but so far nothing.

During the wait Greg had shared more details about what happened. Sherlock had been doing drugs with a few friends. Apparently not the good quality either. Of those four friends one died from cardiac arrest, the others were arrested for possession. Greg had managed to do more about Sherlock, calling in favours and such. Mycroft did not have the mood to tell him that he would be awarded nor the mind to think about such things but the wizard was more composed, less emotionally involved and he made note of this for later.

Now the doctors were worried that Sherlock would remain in a coma. His brain function was different than that of other people while awake, but in a coma genius played no part.

It was when Greg had to leave after ten at night that Mycroft addressed the wizard.

"Can you help?" he asked.

"No," was the quick reply. Then the green eyed man explained. "My kind, drugs don't affect us as much, at least not drugs Muggle's use. Our magic metabolises things differently. And if I try and give him potions now I have no idea how his system will react. I could try to forcibly wake him, but an '_Enervate_' is usual for people who are simply unconscious not..."

"Brain dead?"

"He's not brain-dead," the wizard quickly corrected. "Give him time. I bet he's just being stubborn."

Mycroft snorted. "Stubborn even in his coma. Yes, that sounds like my brother."

They fell silent again.

The following morning Sherlock was awake.


	27. Detox

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the TV series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 27 - Detox**

* * *

A plate flopped down to the floor. It was paper. Mycroft had refused to give Sherlock a weapon he could use to fight with. The clinic was very private, rumoured to be very successful and worth more than some stars could afford but Mycroft had not hesitated. The moment Sherlock had regained his senses; the older of the two Holmes siblings had greeted a confused and disoriented Sherlock with a blank, pale face.

"Sherlock."

From his corner, the green-eyed wizard could see the pale form of the younger detective, looking frail and too similar to some dead bodies he had come across in his life. Sherlock, despite everything, had retained brain function because he zeroed in on his brother immediately and with a few blinks of his eyes seemed caught up.

"Mycroft..."

"No excuses this time," Mycroft's voice had all the warmth of the Artic.

The wizard noted that the younger man flinched at the tone.

"As soon as you can be moved you're heading for the clinic I mentioned last time," Mycroft stated.

Sherlock gave a short nod.

"Speak up," Mycroft curtly ordered sharply.

"I will," Sherlock replied.

"I have nothing more to say to you," Mycroft had said and left the door.

His assistant stayed long enough to see the hurt and remorse on Sherlock's face before following his boss out of the ward. As soon as Sherlock's door was closed Mycroft reached for the nearest wall and just stood there, taking deep breaths. For a while he had feared that the usually strong man would collapse. Certainly Mycroft was trembling enough. But then he straightened his back, took another deep breath and pushed away from the door and continued down the hallway, his assistant following a step behind, ready just in case.

That was then.

Now _Asclepius _was witnessing Sherlock suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Mycroft had cleared his afternoon so he could visit his brother; the clinic had only just allowed visitors for the young genius. The visit had gone ugly as soon as the two brothers faced each other and the wizard had to pull his boss out and call the nurses on Sherlock.

The next day was a new visit that ended with Mycroft not even seeing Sherlock. The young genius was locked in the room, asleep after he had been sick for hours, the fever and the shakes had kept him in agony. Mycroft had just looked into the room at his sibling's sleeping figure before motioning to the green-eyed man that they ought to go.

The visits happened daily after that. Some days Sherlock was awake but refused to see his brother. Other days he was asleep and Mycroft left without a hint of his presence left and the wizard was always there to see his boss look at Sherlock with regret.

On the second week of those visits they bumped into Greg Lestrade as the detective was leaving Sherlock's room with a yelled, "Remember what I told you!" at the young genius.

"DI Lestrade," Mycroft drawled and there was a groan from inside the room.

"Sherlock and I have an agreement, one you need to be aware of," Lestrade told the eldest of the Holmes siblings without preamble. "He stays clean, then he can work on my cases. I have the right to do a drugs bust to whatever place he's staying. If I find anything, his ass is mine, that means criminal record and back in the clinic and no cases at all. What's more, he agreed. If he stays clean for four months and is able to prove it, he can start consulting again. Four months!" he repeated loudly for the genius to hear.

"That is four months worth of criminals!" came Sherlock's loud reply.

"Tough it up!" Lestrade yelled back.

"He's all yours," Mycroft said, with a small smile on his face. He nodded his head at Greg Lestrade and the DI nodded back before leaving.

"Go on in," the green eyed bodyguard told Mycroft. "I bet he's in a better mood now than the last two weeks."

"Half an hour then come get me, we're meeting the Prime Minister."

The wizard grinned. "I give you ten minutes."

"I can keep my comments civil," Mycroft stated.

"He won't," came the wizard's retort.

Mycroft scowled. "You are getting increasingly mouthy." With that he entered Sherlock's room.

Ten minutes later they were in the car and on their way to the Prime Minister.


	28. Paperwork

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the TV series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 28 - ****Paperwork**

* * *

"CIA."

"Again?"

The green-eyed man shrugged. "One request for a consult from NSA as well but I handled that on my own, like you told me."

Mycroft stared. "You forged my signature?"

"Yes."

"Was it ... passable?"

"It was identical."

"..."

"I can do it again, all it takes is a spell and it's ready."

"I know but it never ceases to annoy me."

"I'm still not helping with the paperwork for the natural gas pipeline."

"I'll raise your salary."

"You already pay me enough," was the wizard's quick response. "Besides, if I do get another raise the budget committee is going to riot."

"True," Mycroft conceded. "Once they calm down enough from my next proposal."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"So..."

"I'm going to check on the state of security," the green-eyed man said and left Mycroft's office in a hurry.


	29. Big Brother

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 29 - Big Brother**

* * *

The row Mycroft Holmes predicted with the budget committee happened four days later when the man proposed the installation of cameras on every corner of London and the creation of a system that would put Big Brother to shame.

It was the loudest and most colourful meeting any Holmes had ever been to that was not a family gathering. The insults exchanged were barbed and sharp and when coming from Mycroft, sixty percent of the time the recipients were not aware they were being insulted (the percentage was only because the rest of the time Mycroft wanted them to know he was insulting them). Pens were nearly thrown, glares were exchanged and after a few threats, some subtle, some not so subtle, Mycroft got his way.

"Isn't this a bit much?" the wizard asked.

Mycroft adjusted his tie after he got out of the boardroom, leaving wounded egos behind, as he headed for his office. "Well, you can bet the police will thank us."

"For all the cameras. Even those around Sherlock's residence?" the wizard asked.

"Don't be cheeky my dear man," the eldest of the two Holmes siblings said.

"You do know…"

"That Sherlock will find a way to escape my eyes? Yes, I know. But when he does need me, I'll be only a signal away."

"That's…"

"If you say sweet," Mycroft spat, "I'll fire you."

The wizard snorted and kept quiet.


	30. Messy

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter ****30 - Messy**

* * *

It was Saturday and Number Twelve Grimmauld was not as quiet as one might expect. The owner of the house was up and about and getting busy in the kitchen while Kreacher was standing just outside the door, looking in and wringing his hands with worry at what Master was doing.

And what the green eyed wizard was doing was making a mess of the pristine place. It was one of the few times he got to the house and had enough time to cook something for himself and those days he made enough for two, never forgetting the house elf that waited on him at all times. Today the menu had pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy, a salad and a chocolate mousse for dessert. The pots were dirty, plates strewn all over the counters with dirty knives and splashes of gravy and peeled potatoes and dirty towels. It was a nightmare by the time the green eyed wizard finished cooking and took a step back, washed his hands and turned to the waiting house elf.

"So, Kreacher is it dirty enough for you?" he asked the magical creature. "I could make a mess on the floor too."

"Master has messed the floor, he dripped gravy and stepped all over," Kreacher said, twitching worse than a mouse, eyes going from his Master to the kitchen behind him.

"So, I'm going to take a shower. You go do what you want," the green eyed wizard said and stepped out.

Kreacher bobbed his head. "Master is so kind!" he crowed with delight, something that creeped out the wizard.

"To each his own," Mycroft's assistant muttered and left a very eager to clean house elf behind in a messy kitchen. Days like these he indulged in Kreacher's whim to work a bit more than he was currently since it was only the last male Potter in the house and that was hardly a challenge for the last Black house elf.


	31. Molly

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter ****31 - Molly**

* * *

The name came up when Sherlock started visiting St. Bart's with increasing frequency.

Molly Hooper.

Immediately Mycroft had his wizard check everything there was to know about her and the green eyed man did not disappoint.

Molly Hooper just turned thirty. Parents were Michael (63) and Dona (57) Hooper, lived in London. She was an only child. She graduated from Bart's valedictorian. Currently Molly was employed at Bart's Hospital, in the morgue. Lived alone. Has one cat, a grey British Shorthair, named Smudge. One relationship with former colleague Jasper Stubbs which lasted four years and ended because he left for Somalia with Doctors Without Borders. There were even pictures of the girl and reports and comments by colleagues and former and current associates. It was all very detailed.

Mycroft glared at _Spencer_ over the manila folder he was given.

"You have her cat's name?" he asked the wizard.

_Spencer_ shrugged. "Check out her blog and then tell me. It's all pink, flowers and kitties, cute ones too."

Mycroft stared.

"I've already forwarded the link to your phone."

"I just wanted to learn what her connection is to Sherlock."

"Well, she has a crush on him and he's just..."

"Typical Sherlock."

"Exactly," _Spencer_ said.

Mycroft eyed the folder.

"Cats?"

"Cute ones."

"You're a dog person then?"

The wizard nodded, "Always. Cats are way to sassy for my tastes."

Mycroft glanced at him. "Are we still talking about cats or have you heard that ... You know what, never mind. That will be all."

"Of course," _Spencer _said. "For what it's worth, Johan in our Interpol contacts is rather cute; you could do a lot worse."

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the wizards back even though he wanted to call him back and yell. Honestly, gossip travelled disgustingly fast in the hallways of this building.


	32. Hide and Go Seek

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter ****32 - ****Hide and Go Seek**

* * *

Ms Cowel peered up from her screen as Mycroft Holmes stormed past her and Patterson without as much as a look towards them, much less a good morning like he greeted them on most days. Today they could almost see the storm cloud around him. Not a step behind him, the green eyed man followed, but unlike Holmes, he looked amused. She and Patterson shared a wondering look but said nothing.

Once inside the office, the door was locked and wards were up, then the green eyed wizard dared to make a noise.

"That was bold of him, and ingenious," he remarked.

"If I wanted your opinion, _Gideon, _I'd ask for it," Mycroft said as he took a seat and glared ahead of him.

"Yes, but even you have to marvel how fast he caught up with you,' the wizard insisted."He was still in the clinic when the cameras were installed. It took him two days to notice them and another three to learn to evade them using alleys and the subway."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. "You sound proud that he gave me the slip."

"You are proud despite the..." _Gideon _trailed off, "Can I call it not-whining and still keep my job?"

"He looked right at the camera, waved and winked and took off!"

"Oh, worried he might be back to his old haunts?"

"No, Lestrade managed to get most of them for drug trafficking and possession so most of them are still in jail. Does not mean Sherlock cannot find another dealer or even make his own."

"I forgot about his chemistry knowledge," Mycroft's green eyed assistant remarked. "But do you really think so? Do you think Sherlock will give up so easily?"

The older of the Holmes siblings scowled, "He already tried to ruin his life."

"I think he learnt his lesson."

"I don't trust him."

"Yes, I think he knows that too," the wizard agreed.

"He has not given me any reason to trust him," Mycroft insisted.

"The big brother thing is a bit much."

"He's going to have to get used to it."

"He's been hiding from your cameras the past two weeks, appearing in front of one only to wave at you."

"Well, two can play that game," Mycroft replied.

The wizard cocked his head to the side. "Game? You know, your family has weird notions as to what is a game."

"You rode a broom chasing after a golden ball."

"Yup, I can recognise stupidity when I see it."

Mycroft glared at him. "Don't you have to train the new security detail?"

_Gideon _grinned, "Of course. Shall I tell Ms Cowel to walk on eggshells around you?"

"Just go."

"You're going to review the footage again, aren't you?"

"Go, _Gideon."_

The wizard grinned and slinked away from the office and Mycroft fired up his lap top and logged on to the network he set up, just in time to get a notice that his errant sibling had resurfaced, in the company of a street rat, somewhere near Sutton. Sherlock appeared to be in a hurry and probably he was working on something that caught his fancy, certainly nothing from Lestrade just yet. The cameras followed his sibling for what seemed like a trip through two bookstores and one church before Sherlock lifted his head, scowled at the camera and along with his sidekick slipped into an alley and vanished.

"I hate this game," Mycroft muttered.


	33. Encounters

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 33 - Encounters**

* * *

It was not often he came across a portal opening but when he did, he would sometimes linger and watch. They noticed him, of course, unless he did not want them to see him but these days he hardly cared. When the magical community uprooted themselves and left, these portals opened every year, around springtime to allow the teams to come, meet the Muggleborns and try and convince the parents to move to their world. Seventy percent of the time, the Muggleborn parents were interested and ended up doing exactly what the wizards wanted, taking their kids and moving behind the magical barrier. The rest of them were not pressed to make it across to the other side but the kids were given potions and their core was dried up, draining the magic till the kids were left squibs and no accidental magic could get them in trouble. It was in some ways barbaric and painful to the kids but if they were not to join the magical community they could not be allowed to use magic untrained. It was dangerous for all parties involved. The wizard known as the Boy-Who-Lived still had mixed feelings about this practice.

It was a Thursday morning he came across one such scene. It was a family of four, relocating. Most of their belongings, car, pets, flower pots. He had been jogging when he noticed the van with the crest from the Relocating Bureau, the wands; the Phoenix and the Pegasus were a dead giveaway. No one else was giving them a second look but the wizard stopped short.

One of the personnel, a woman with blond hair and freckled face noticed him. She was wearing a uniform that could also pass as Muggle clothes, pants and a shirt and an open robe over the ensemble, her wand holster prominent.

"You magical?" she asked him, curious about him until she took in his looks, dark hair and eyes the colour of the Killing Curse. Recognition was immediate. "Mister Potter!" she exclaimed.

"I no longer use that name," the wizard immediately replied.

"Um, I'm sorry... We all knew the rumours but I never thought..."

"Yes, well, sometimes the rumours can be true."

The witch nodded and promptly introduced herself. She was from Ireland, never went to Hogwarts or got caught up in the war with Voldemort but she got a job after the move to the Other World, a job she was mostly content with.

"You could come along, we've got room," she offered him but the green eyed wizard shook his head.

"I know I can cross over whenever I want to," he told her. "But for now, I need to finish up my morning routine, I'm sure you understand." Just then the family came out. They noticed him, of course, noticed the reverence the witch was showing him. The witch's partner recognised him as well but he jogged away before they could make a big deal about it. No one understood exactly why their famed saviour did not want to relocate just like they have. Most of the populace still thought of him as the second coming of Merlin and gave him so much reverence and awe that the young man found it hard to breathe. Among Muggle's, where no one knew his name, he had no standards to meet, no expectations to live up to, no one to dictate his moves and his life, he was free.


	34. Show and Tell

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 34 - ****Show and Tell**

* * *

The invite to see the new security detail for the Prime Minister was somewhat of a tradition and Mycroft always put in an appearance, especially since his bodyguard and assistant had joined the instructors for the day and was about to be pitted against the new recruits. Mycroft was seated right next to the PM and despite the fact that most people knew who the PM was, their glances kept shooting to Mycroft and the presence he had. On first glance, he was a nobody, but on second glance they recognized the power his position held. No one asked him anything and the PM was thankfully oblivious to the affect Mycroft Holmes had with his presence.

As for Mycroft himself, he was rather interested in the prowess of the new recruits. Most of them were military, a couple from the police force and two, as his assistant had pointed out, were second generation squibs that we unlikely to ever produce a magical line again.

When the signal was given the show began, and it really was a show that told of the skill these people had. It was only hand to hand battles that took place but it was still impressive. _Smythe, _as the wizard had decided to be known as that day, was certainly among the best of them but not the topmost one. He was fast and light on his feet and he could strategize on the spot. It was obvious from the get go that he was experienced and brute force would not take him down. Another thing Mycroft knew was that _Smythe_ had his eyes peeled open and looking for someone to have Mycroft's back whenever he could not be there. Out of the fifty six people present only seven were women and only five of them were... presentable enough to pass as more than security detail and blend in with the background.

"He's good," Benjamin MacFarlane the Prime Minister commented and Mycroft turned his head to look at the man.

"Who are you referring to?" Holmes asked.

"Number seven. He's lean and fast. Must be strong too."

Mycroft looked at number Seven, his assistant. It was one of the few times the wizard was out of a three piece suit and his hair was wilder than usual. He was dressed in the navy blue top and grey pants the rest of the hopefuls wore and some of his scars were visible when the cloth rippled and pulled with some of the faster and more brutal moves. He recalled how that lean body felt, covering him when bullets were targeting him. He recalled clearly how the wizard had gone rigid and stiff as the bullets pierced his flesh. And he recalled with clarity the tie he still had in his drawers, the blood, dried blood on it.

"Yes, he is," Mycroft remarked, watching as _Smythe _managed to take his opponent down, with great difficulty. Mycroft noticed that his opponent, number forty five was a woman, tall, brown hair and the same cunning in her moves the wizard had showed.

Then _Smythe _looked up and nodded towards his opponent, keeping his eyes locked with Mycroft. Apparently, they had who they were looking for.


	35. Assets One: The Wizard

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 35 - ****Assets One: The Wizard**

* * *

The alert came the moment the US Minister for Foreign Affairs sent back a reply to the British Prime Minister that he would be visiting. Naturally Mycroft knew before the media, but unfortunately at the same time as an up and rising extremist group. The threat arrived via an attack on the site for the Ministry of Defence. A bomb threat. Potential targets? Twenty four major tourist spots, public building, the subway and the Parliament. It was that very moment every agency was on alert. First priority, keep people from panicking. Second, keep people safe. Third? Find the terrorists and neutralise them, preferably before the US Minister arrive on British soil. The time frame they had to work was a mere seventy two hours. It was a challenge Mycroft Holmes took on a more personal level and it showed in the way he took charge, issuing orders with clinical certainty and detachment. The camera network he had set up was to be used to its utmost potency, all agencies were on standby and police presence on the streets was more widespread.

However there were two assets Mycroft had that he wanted to use to their fullest potential. One was his assistant. The wizard was using what he knew best to help along the investigation. While warding the entire area of London was not an option, not by a long shot, the key locations of interest were already under magical protection from the days Voldemort was active. Mycroft's building, the Parliament and the British PM's residence were protected by powerful wards. Everything else was free game and the green eyed wizard knew it. What he could to do help Mycroft was try and find out which would be the most possible target for the terrorists. It was guess work and a play on possibilities and luck, namely, one branch of magic the wizard did not particularly like; Divination.

Mycroft was a sceptic but he also was a man who trusted results. Magic was real. Fact. Prophecies were real. Fact. The Boy-Who-Lived had a destiny driven by a prophecy. Fact. His assistant was a fully qualified wizard who had failed his Divination classes. Fact.

Yet despite everything they were both at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, a house Mycroft had previously never stepped foot inside. He had known of the place's existence, he had known the location via its Secret Keeper, but had never entered both because of the boundaries between employer and employee and because there had been no reason to enter before this.

"You are going to use divination to find out where the terrorists will strike?" Mycroft repeated and he hated repeating himself, it made him sound less serious than he was.

"Pretty much, yes," the green eyed wizard confirmed.

"I... I don't see how that is possible. Or helpful," Mycroft remarked as he sipped tea from the tea set the house elf had produced for him and his host. The china was fine and the patterns delicate and detailed. It was on par with the tea set her Majesty used. And the tea was of the finest quality. And the finger foods were excellent. Had the situation not been so dire Mycroft would have asked the wizard to share his little helper with him. Perhaps he would make note of it for the future.

"Have some faith," Mycroft's assistant muttered as he pointed to the little black velvet pouch he had in his hands.

"So, tarots, crystal ball?" the Holmes man asked. He eyes his tea cup. "Tealeaves?"

"I can't read tea leaves, I'm pants at reading the Crystal ball unless I'm concerned and I have no talent whatsoever at card reading."

"Awful way to start, don't you think?"

The wizard sighed. "No, I don't think. Divination has many branches, many uses. Right now we want choices and options, yes or no answers, to narrow the playfield."

"Indeed."

"Then that's what I'm going to do," the raven haired man declared.

"What's in the pouch?" Mycroft asked and the wizard smirked; He had asked for a clear spot on the coffee table and Kreacher had given him just that.

"This crystal I made myself, using materials no longer available to me. Even the string is made of magic. It took me six months to make these," the pouch was emptied in one hand, "They are used to scrye for answers. Ever heard of Pendulum Divination Mycroft Holmes?"


	36. Pendulum Divination

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 36 - ****Pendulum Divination**

* * *

"Crystal balls, tarot cards, numerology, pendulum divination, the Celtic Ogham, Lithomancy, Norse Runes, the Sight are only some of the possible ways to see beyond what your physical eyes are capable of seeing. There are various veils that separate our world into realms. Wizards used one such veil to separate themselves from the non-magicals. That is a space veil. Divination methods try to tamper with time veils and the death veil. Some methods need a natural gift; others just need magically enhanced tools. I was never talented in popular divination methods and never even considered learning until a friend of mine won over a bet and had me try out three methods of divination I was never taught at school. One is Full Moon Water Scrying but full moon won't be for another twenty days and that method is vague and uses feelings and impressions and very, very rarely clear pictures of my objective. It's used to see the future. Then there's Lithomancy, sometimes coupled with rune symbols, sometimes without them. Modern Lithomancy deviates from old techniques. Thirteen stones tossed on a board and used to predict the future and sometimes the past, according to the direction they scatter, how they fall and settle, what they represent. This method is a tad too vague for our needs now."

"Just get to the point. No need to gloat."

"Not gloating Mycroft, just explaining the process. Unlike you and your brother my brain does not leap from clues to conclusions on a whim and your knowledge on magical matters is almost non-existent," the green eyed wizard said.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow, a 'get to the point' expression.

"A pendulum is a simple method really and ideal for yes or no questions. Muggle's trying to play wizards use them, charlatans too. But for wizards like me," he grinned. "I made the crystal on my own. It's like intro to Alchemy for preschoolers. The chain was in one of my vaults. Unlike normal crystals it does not charge in the moonlight but needs a drop of blood every six months."

"You claim that it works," Mycroft said. "Knowing your history I believe divination is of some importance but choice is always a factor."

"When it comes to prophecies, that is the case," the wizard agreed. "You need proof to believe in this method. I can easily test it, all part of the calibration." He held the pendulum up from the free end of the chain, watched it dangle down till it stopped. "When it points to you, the answer is a 'No' but when it is pointed in my direction the answer is a 'Yes."

"You are being a comedian now? Hurry it up."

The wizard nodded. "Am I a wizard?" he asked and the pendulum swayed to his side, indicating 'Yes'.

Mycroft carefully set his tea down on the table. The presentation was far from over.

"Am I a Muggle?" the green eyed man asked and this time the pendulum moved to point at Mycroft, a clear 'No' direction. "Proof enough?"

"Start on the locations," Mycroft told him. "I'll read the list, you pose the question."  
His assistant nodded. "You can start."

"Wellington Arch," his boss said.

"Is the Wellington Arch a target for a terrorist hit within the next ten days?" the wizard asked. The question was more complex than the test questions but the pendulum shifted from its vertical spot, pointing towards Mycroft.

A soft exhale and the motion of a pen crossing out the name.

"Tower of London," Mycroft read.

The pendulum pointed towards the Muggle again.

"Parliament."

The answer was a 'No'."

"St. Paul's Cathedral?"

The pendulum was negative and the list continued, crossing out location after location. All of London's popular museums got the all clear, the London Zoo as well.

"London Eye?" Mycroft read.

The wizard posed the question and this time the pendulum wavered, moving from Mycroft to his assistant and not settling.

"This one is a maybe, I think," the green eyed man said. "They've yet to make up their minds."

"They've got a lot to choose from," Mycroft said and carried on with the list.

The locations were plenty. Soon they had fifteen more possible locations and four blatant positive targets and by the time the list was over Mycroft's tea was cold.

"It's done," The wizard said.

Mycroft nodded. "We had the 'when' and now we have the 'where' as close to it as we can have considering. What I need now is the 'who'. And when I have tangible suspects then I can act," he said. "Patterson compiled a file and distributed the profiles of possible suspects to the usual people. Most of them check out so far."

"But?" the owner of Grimmauld Number 12 asked.

"But I want definite answers and proof. And for that I need a very sharp mind."

"Apart from your own?" the wizard asked, catching up.

An arched eyebrow.

"You know he'll hate it when you ask."

"I don't always visit personally, sometimes I delegate," Mycroft pointedly looked at his assistant.

The wizard sighed. "I'll track down Sherlock."

"Best the confrontation happens at his apartment, more privacy that way."

"Of course."


	37. Assets Two: The Detective

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 37 - ****Assets Two: The Detective**

* * *

The tableau was so familiar for a moment Mycroft thought mother would barge in and take each of them by their ear but then he blinked and the familiarity gave way to weariness. He and Sherlock sat on opposite chairs in the youngest Holmes' new sitting room.

"No."

"Sherlock... stop being so difficult."

"No. How come you came to me now?"

"I'm on a very, very tight schedule and I need smart people."

"Your drones not coming through?" the younger Homes asked, making Mycroft frown.

"Sherlock, this is not a game."

"You can't make me play then," the genius shot back. "Where is your assistant?"

"My assistant found out where the terrorists might strike. I need someone who can tell me who they might be."

"Your little camera network not working out?" Sherlock sounded smug and the frown on Mycroft's face deepened.

"You do understand we are talking about people, actual people dying, right?" Mycroft asked, voice calm as he stood, took the file he had left on the coffee table and slapped it against Sherlock's chest. "You will work on this, brother of mine. Or I will make you. I can easily cancel your pass to Bart's."

"Is this how it's going to pan out?" Sherlock glared at him from behind his thick curls. "Every time you want something you'll blackmail me?"

"Now, now... You know you're in this position because you're being so... difficult. And each blackmail is to be used only once, or else I'd be a common crook."

"No, you're a bureaucrat," Sherlock muttered. "I do this..." he tapped the file," and you leave me alone."

"You do this and you get a pass to Bart's and the facilities, including the morgue, for as long as you like," Mycroft countered.

"And I can take out artefacts for research."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. "Cadavers you mean."

"Experiments."

"Not entire bodies," Mycroft denied.

"A torso or a leg perhaps fingers or eyes... A brain," Sherlock said.

Mycroft was itching to ask why would his younger sibling need parts of a human body but at the same time he was running out of time. It was like dealing with a terrorist, that's how he felt every time he bartered with his brother. And each and every time he was amused by just how similar they were. If his magical assistant were present he would be rolling his eyes at how both of them were so... unfeeling. The green eyed man knew that while Mycroft was good at his job, he too was like Sherlock, to a lesser degree. How their mother managed to bring out and rear two children who were more or less sociopaths to one degree or another was something someone ought to study.

"We have a deal and you have," Mycroft looked at his watch. "Twenty four hours, thirty six tops, to get me results."

He left the room, not looking back to see the smug look on Sherlock's face. No doubt Sherlock was more amused that the man who was essentially the British Government came to ask him for help. At the same time Mycroft descended the stairs he thought back at the state of the apartment his sibling was staying in. The smells of formaldehyde and other substances had been dizzying. The kitchen was practically a lab and the place a mess of half finished experiments, books, trash and clothes. He absently recalled the last apartment Sherlock had been kicked out of and sighed internally. Perhaps he would ask Lestrade to talk some sense into him, the man had kids, Sherlock could be one when he wanted, Lestrade surely could handle him.


	38. The Network

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 38 - ****The Network**

* * *

He had realized early on that people were better than cameras. Some people could blend in better than others, they were practically invisible, overlooked daily, able to get to places a well dressed tall man with his face could not. The homeless people of London, people of all ages, from various places from all over the world, not just the UK, people that in past lives had different skill sets, people that in their current one just needed a nudge, a bit of help, or plain wanted the money he offered them.

One such person was Carl. Medium height, slim, quick on his feet and even quicker with his hands. He had been the one to teach Sherlock to pick locks and pick pocket. He had been twelve at the time and Sherlock had been eighteen. The genius had not tried to convince the boy to seek help; he knew a hopeless case when he saw one. What he did do, was nudge Carl to a direction that would benefit them both. He put the idea of a network in the boy's head and set him loose in the streets of London. A week into it, he brought four more people to Sherlock's doorstep. Annie, age sixteen, working as a prostitute and a pickpocket, whatever she could to keep from getting hungry and cold. Jason, Annie's younger brother by a year. Both of them had been eager to help Sherlock when he told them that from every job, they got a fee, finder's fee, for information. Then there was Jonny and Mark, both from West London, both had done some time for petty theft at one point and now at age seventeen worked cons to make ends meet. They were the inner circle so to speak of Sherlock's network. Over the years more were added, but those were the original ones, the only ones that had direct contact with Sherlock when there was no need to be extra discreet. They were fast, sneaky and never let the young genius down.

He met with Carl in an alley behind a bakery, carrying with him copies of the pictures Mycroft had put in his file. The list had been long and he had divided the twenty five pictures into groups.

"What's this?" Carl asked, taking the envelope.

"I want you to make sure these pictures make the rounds in the network," Sherlock said.

"Who are they?" Carl asked.

"Some potentially dangerous people," the investigative detective said. "So be extra careful. I just want you to locate them and send word to me. You don't get extra if you follow them around and… they might carry weapons."

Carl nodded. "Mafia guys?"

"Terrorists," Sherlock replied.

Carl nodded again. "Usual fee?"

"Of course. Those that locate them first get the fee. And Carl? I mean it, no need for heroics with these people."

The younger man snatched the files. "How long do we get?"

"Twenty four hours at best," Sherlock replied and Carl sighed.

"We'll try, see you back here?"

"Same time tomorrow," Sherlock nodded and walked away.


	39. Questions

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 39 - ****Questions**

* * *

The arrest happened at three after midnight. The police and Special Task Force units had surrounded the house, closed off the entire street to do so. Mycroft was in his office, lap top set up to watch the operation take place. Next to him, Sherlock was looking and feeling rather bored.

"Why am I here again?" the younger Holmes asked. "Your office is rather boring by the way, duller than the persona you sell to your… let's call them colleagues."

"Missing the clutter of your apartment Sherlock?" Mycroft drawled. He zoomed in on the scene. "The captain gave the signal. All of them are seemingly asleep. It's the best bet they've got." He picked up his phone and texted his assistant who was on site, overlooking the progress and ready to intervene the moment Mycroft had new orders for him.

"How big was the threat?"

Mycroft looked up at Sherlock's question. "Pardon?"

"How many people would they have killed?"

"Hundreds," the man who was the British Government replied. "They had planned to hit places all over London at rush hour."

"And could you tell me how you know where they would hit?" Sherlock asked. "No one in the streets new what their plans were. I tracked them down with the help of my informants, and by tracking the trail they left while shopping for the supplies they needed for the bombs. Their families are in the dark, their colleagues, everyone. Yet you could tell where they would hit and those that saw them loitering recalled them and their strange behaviour."

"Sheer luck," Mycroft responded.

"Luck?" Sherlock repeated with disbelief.

Mycroft shrugged.

"You are hiding something from me," his brother said, suddenly more interested than he was a few minutes ago.

The older Holmes sibling just glanced at the screen as the operation unfolded. There was lots of smoke and a flurry of movement as the window was broken and gas thrown in the house, then the door was brought down and the teams moved in.

"And I bet it's something big," Sherlock mused.

"Bigger than you imagine," Mycroft replied just as his phone buzzed.

_We have them. House secured._

"Your pet?" Sherlock smirked.

"We got them," Mycroft replied.

"Then I can be on my way, cases to find, murders to solve, I hate getting bored," Sherlock said and swept out of the room.


	40. What a Nice Young Man

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 40 - ****What a Nice Young Man**

* * *

"Morning Mrs. White."

The sixty something year old woman looked up and grinned at the young man that sauntered inside her shop.

"Why, hello green eyes," she smiled at the thirty something old man. She had grown accustomed to having him enter her shop on weekends, sometimes only on Sundays, order some coffee or tea and a snack. Sometimes he chose to take them and leave, other times he would have newspapers with him to read, in languages she had no idea existed. He was always polite too, with a ready smile to give. She had seen him help Mrs. Bingley cross the street. He had helped that new girl from Scotland move her things up to her new apartment. He would sometimes sit with old man Rogers, who used to be a soldier during World War II and he would let the man talk and relive the old days. She had seen him wearing expensive three piece suits like the folk that worked at the City, and gym clothes soaked up in sweat. Mrs. White never saw a briefcase on him, never saw anyone accompanying him.

The one time she got in a spot of trouble he had offered to help her.

In the thirty or so years she had her shop it had happened once or twice, thugs wanting protection money from the bakery. When her husband Wilbert was alive, he would take care of them and they never bothered her afterwards but now her bones were frail and her sons and daughters lived scattered across England. She had no one to turn to. After one such transaction (the brutes had the gall to walk into her shop during (the (the brutes had the gall to walk into her shop during Sunday and ask for her hard earned money). When they had left, she looked up and saw green eyes piercing her. He stood up then, walked up to her and leaned closer.

"Good day Mrs. White?"

"Not the best, young man," she returned voice barely cracking.

"Want some help with your rat problem?" he asked voice level and light.

That had made her look up right then. "Are you…"

"I work for the government madam," the green eyed man replied, giving her a jovial smile that no pencil pusher had ever given her when she filed papers for her pension.

"I could use some help, yes," Mrs. White replied.

"Excellent!" the young man told her. "See you next Saturday."

He saw her when he said he would. Right before the brutes marched in, pale and shaken and bringing back her money, apologizing and walking out. They never came back and that was months ago. Mrs. White had her doubts that the green eyed man worked for the government but what she never doubted was how nice he was to her. So what if she always gave him and extra piece of her treacle tart? He seemed to like it and could use some meat on his bony frame.


	41. Anthea

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 41 - ****Anthea**

* * *

He had read her file long before the little show they had to put up for political reasons. She was one of the seven women suggested for the spot. Her name was as common as his own, Anna - Teresa Martin, age twenty eight, born and raised in London. During high school Anna was average at school work but excelled at sports and on the side she hacked government accounts, never got officially caught but she had been tagged and she knew it, that's why she quit toying with the law. She lost her best friend during Voldemort's uprising and during one of his most public attacks on Muggle towns; it was what made her want to become an officer of the law. She graduated the police academy and then went ahead to join Special Forces. Her record was clean after that, save for two counts of assaulting fellow team members. It was just the one man, the wizard nodded, twice, for grabby hands. He got reassigned; she got to attend the show and tell on just the right time.

During the fight she showed just how far ahead she could think and how she could disregard her safety to meet an objective, but not just rush foolishly in. She would be a perfect bodyguard for Mycroft, would not take any offence to his sharp tongue (the man never curbed his tongue but was not a chauvinist either).

They met in a café. The wizard had never really liked the off white corridors of their offices. She seemed taken aback by the choice in location.

"Am I really hired?" Anna asked.

"Yes, you were the one with the most promise, that I could tell."

"And what am I hired as? I'm not a bimbo you need to look pretty."

"No, but that is a plus. People underestimate you."

"Like I underestimated you," the woman muttered and he grinned. "What is your name?"

_"Salvatore," _he replied with a soft smirk.

"Really?"

"No, I don't really use my true name any more."

"Security reasons?" she asked.

"Hm… No. It's just better this way. More fun too."

"What name do you use then?"

"Why, Mrs. Martin, how curious you are."

"When I find an envelope with a job offer and so much fine print, I have every right to be curious."

He leaned back on his chair, sipped some of his tea and then addressed her again. "How did you like the fine print?"

"Loved it."

"Chosen a name yet?"

"Anthea. For this month at least. Or whenever you want to address me and not use my real name."

The wizard grinned. "Perfect."


	42. Code of Conduct

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 42 - ****Code of conduct**

* * *

Usually he gave training the newbie's to other personnel, but this one he would need to work closely with and deep down he did not trust Mycroft's safety to just any random person. The wizard knew the woman had made the cut physically, but he wanted her to understand what was expected of her. Because he was not just a bodyguard for Mycroft Holmes, the man that was essentially the British Government. He was also an assistant and a weapon and a shield for the crown as well as the state. He had his own set of rules that he followed, mostly because they were convenient to him and his work. It was a mix of Muggle military and his old Auror squadron's code with a flavour of disobedience when the situation called for it.

He regarded the woman seated before him, in his office which was next to Mycroft's but smaller and bare since he rarely used it. She was quiet and attentive as she listened to the rules he dictated.

_"_Number one: while on the job, who you are does not matter. You have no name, no personal clues, not even personality. You are supposed to be a nobody, blend in, make them overlook. You are nameless and faceless.

Number two: we are supposed to help Mycroft Holmes be at his most productive. We screen calls, deal with the unwanted issues, check security and spy on the office workers. You are to know everyone by name, face and able to tell when someone does not belong here.

Number three: You get to baby-sit Sherlock, everyone must at least once.

Number four: Sherlock is Mycroft's brother, no shooting at him no matter how hard he makes it not to do so.

Number five: never, ever let Sherlock pick pocket your key cards. We do not want an international incident on our hands.

Number six: never, ever let Mycroft take a call from Madam Holmes, his mother. He will be moody all week long.

Number seven: wear shoes you can run with

Number eight: careful who you invite back to your place. Leave no work related items around. Better yet DO NOT take work home.

Number nine: do not tell your family, friends, lover etc who you work for.

Number ten: will be added soon enough."

Anthea read the rules a second time and hummed under her breath.

"Any questions?" the green eyed wizard asked.

"Basically we're secretaries but with guns," Anthea commented.

"And we actually get to use them."

"I like that," she said.

"Good. You start immediately. I'll introduce you to the people on this floor and Mister Patterson and Ms. Cowel will show you around. "


	43. It's All In The Cut

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 43 - ****It's All In The Cut****  
**

* * *

He had not meant to look, he really had not, but his ears picked up the gossip first and then his eyes followed. His wizard assistant's pet project, the newly renamed Anthea, and Ms Cowel were returning from their joined lunch with other office workers and Mycroft just happened to stand by the lifts, waiting for the elevator to arrive when he heard the not so subtle whispering those two plus Madeleine from the front desk and Joan the PM liaison were engaging in.

"…and those tight fitting pants…"

Mycroft's ears picked up the words but he did not pay them any mind until…

"I'd love to be his tailor!"

Followed by giggles.

Now, there were only two people in the entire floor that wore tailor made suits. One was Mycroft himself and he doubted the ladies were discussing his… assets, and the other was none other than his green eyed assistant. Now, he was usually above overhearing conversations without strategic value and participating in gossiping but he could not help but strain his ears to listen more.

"And did you see him when he bent over the other day?" Ms Cowel was asking. There was giggling, mostly from Madeleine and Joan.

"He is in a very good shape," Anthea agreed and Mycroft nearly found himself nodding. He knew what the ladies were talking about. The green eyed man was quick to help whenever he was needed, not turning up his nose whenever some subordinate needed help with a security matter, or even with a technical issue. A few times the man had shed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and helped carry files for, or a piece of sensitive equipment (the IT department still gushed about how the man helped with the trolley that carried the equipment that jammed bugs). The wizard in his slacks and vest looked quite distinguished and apparently the ladies had noticed.

"I'd love to pinch him and cop a feel," Joan admitted. "Have you? I heard from Mark down the hall that you two spar," she mentioned to Anthea.

"I've never groped a sparring partner," the woman replied, "Nor am I going to do so now, no matter how tempting the target."

The 'ping' of the elevator made Mycroft blink and focus on the doors opening in front of him. Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, he stepped inside, wondering if all their conversations focused on his assistant and his assets. If so, at least he did not have to wonder about the leaking sensitive information. Still, their chosen topic was stuck in Mycroft's brain for a while after that day.


	44. I was in the Neighbourhood

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

**A/N:** This chapter was an idea/prompt by readaddict123 on 01-06-2013. The idea :Something happens (like a murder, etc) in #11 or #13 Grimmauld Place and Sherlock ends up finding out where Harry lives when he goes to talk to the neighbours to see if they saw anything, etc.

* * *

**Chapter 44 – I was in the Neighbourhood**

* * *

There is something to be said about going out for groceries and coming back to a crime scene being sectioned off just before your front door. London's finest were there, sirens blazing, tape cutting off the traffic and curious neighbours were all out there on the street, making the grocery carrying wizard stop short. Normally he would just make himself invisible and sidestep all the ruckus but he recognized at least two people in the crowd of uniformed officers and forensics personnel.

Sherlock was easy to spot, tall with curls and an expensive coat. He was engaged in a shouting match with a slightly shorter man in scrubs and a police jacket while DI Lestrade was hovering nearby looking like he had a migraine and its name was Sherlock.

"Hey, you! Why are you loitering here?"

The wizard stared at the woman, looking from her shoes to her curly hair and a bit of extensive application of lipstick and then back up to Sherlock and the other two men, who were now staring at them. Body and argument forgotten, Sherlock strode towards him, looking visibly curious. Lestrade was only a step behind him.

"Well, well, well, fancy seeing you in the neighbourhood," the genius said, taking in the green eyed man's attire (casual jeans and a shirt with a jacket over it, dark colouring in everything), the grocery bag and the phone in his hand. "You stay here? In this neighbourhood," Sherlock stated, looking ecstatic.

Lestrade stopped right next to Sherlock, looking at him with shock and weariness. "Is everything alright?" He eyed Sherlock. "There's no…"

"Relax Lestrade; he's not here in his official capacity. He is staying somewhere on this street," the genius said, looking around.

"Holmes!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Anderson," he said the name as if it was a vile word. "What do you want? I told you that man was killed by his mistress because he was unwilling to leave the wife. I don't know why you called me in for something so boring," Sherlock accused the DI, who then rolled his eyes.

"Listen… Um, what is your name?" Greg asked the wizard.

"_Marc_," the green eyed man replied, enjoying the frown on Sherlock's face.

"How… unremarkable," the genius said. "Where you feeling bored today…_Marc?"_

"Somewhat yes," the wizard replied.

"Excellent, you don't mind having me over for tea then? I could use something warm," Sherlock said. "Where do you live? Number eleven? Thirteen? Ten? Fourteen?"

_Marc _grinned. "Actually, it's Grimmauld Place Number Twelve, I own the building," he replied and the four people in front of him frowned.

"Twelve?" Lestrade asked, turning around. "Huh."

Grimmauld Place Number Twelve sat between numbers eleven and thirteen like it had been there all along. Lestrade frowned but let it go, stirring a disgruntled Anderson back towards the body. The female officer shot Sherlock a look and walked away. As for the young genius, he was eyeing the building with suspicion. He then looked to the wizard.

"That was not there before," he said carefully, eyes pinned on _Marc_ with suspicion and a hunger. He had just been presented with his newest and most interesting puzzle and knowing Sherlock, he was not going to let this go.

"How about that tea then?" Sherlock said and led the way to number Twelve.


	45. Something about you

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 45 – ****Something about you**

* * *

He kept an eye on _Marc _the whole time. He observed as they were let inside the house, the door opening on its own accord at a touch from the green eyed man's hands. Entering the house was an experience for Sherlock. The house was old, the whole neighbourhood had buildings that were two centuries old easily but while renovated this was an old place. The floorboards, the furniture, the expensive paintings, the silver pieces that decorated the surfaces. They passed by a room with only a fireplace and room to hang coats and umbrellas, a dining room big enough to hold thirty people seated, a study, a library and two sitting rooms that his mother would have easily approved of before coming to a third sitting room. This one was a tad more modern, with leather sofas and armchairs, a fireplace with the fire crackling and a tea set for two waiting. There were bookcases all around and pictures scattered around. One had the green eyed man, _Marc, _with the Queen in this very house.

"Interesting," muttered Sherlock.

He turned around and saw his… host, sans the grocery bags and the jacket.

"Can I take your coat?" _Marc _asked, extending his hand for it.

Sherlock nodded and shrugged out of it, handing it over and taking a seat. "This tea was just poured."

"So I notice. Great luck, isn't it? Have a biscuit with it; they're fresh from this morning, almond I believe."

"You had your phone on you, you could have texted your butler. I assume this building has one. Five floors, most of them uninhabited because you are a bachelor, no way this house is taken care of by you."

The green eyed man smiled. "With my pay check? A butler?"

"Don't try to stroke my ego, it's obvious you're old money," Sherlock told him, sipping from the cup. "Expensive tastes in tea."

"I can indulge," was the quick reply.

"What did you do for the crown for her Majesty to like you and for my brother to trust you to have his back?" Sherlock asked.

"I killed a man," _Marc _offered, he had hung the coat and taken a seat across from Sherlock, looking rather sombre about his admission.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "I can believe that," he conceded. Like he could believe that the man across from him was a war veteran and not a killer that took lives for the fun of it. No, this man needed cause and even then would not take a life lightly. He could not be much older from Sherlock, certainly younger than Mycroft. While the UK had troupes sent to the Middle East and Africa and with the NATO forces, nothing that could explain this nameless man. Sherlock knew that Britain did not have children soldiers, one thing even Mycroft and his black heart would not abide by. Yet the green eyed man had all the clues indicating a trained individual. "Why didn't I see the house before you mentioned there was a number Twelve?"

"Must have slipped your mind."

The genius frowned again, recognizing that he was being taunted. He hated being taunted. The man was not making fun of him per se, but he knew exactly what Sherlock was talking about and keeping quiet about it, obviously amused by his confusion. There was something here, something simple yet remarkable that was bound to answer all the questions Sherlock was accumulating as he spent time in the sitting room of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Who was this man that Mycroft chose as his assistant and bodyguard and clean up man? In the pictures there was no medal, no uniform to showcase exactly why this young man knew her Majesty well enough for her to visit him here. There had been trophies and medals in the study they had passed by but Sherlock knew that he would not get to snoop, not in this house and with _Marc_ present. And he also knew that he would find it difficult to break in or have one of his people break in. He would have to make do with scraps of information too disjoined to make an accurate deduction.

"You're enjoying this," Sherlock accused him.

"Hm, a tad, yes. Much better than the 'Hide and Go Seek' game you and Mycroft are playing," _Marc _remarked. "What can you tell me about me?"

Sherlock arched an eyebrow and sat comfortably. "Old money, old title, perhaps two even. This china set had a crest with a wolf and stars but the vase with the blue hibiscus near the entrance was entirely different and much, much older. The crests are distinguished, at least three centuries old. I'm thinking one title is Barony and the other a Lordship, which is which escapes me at the moment. You are a war veteran, don't deny the obvious. Which war though… Or was it not a war fought outside this country? I never really made any sense of those terrorists a while back. The police and the government were tight lipped about the whole thing. After a year of terror everything stopped and they announced the terrorist cell was rooted out, the leader dead and the accomplices in jail. I'm guessing that's when you met the Queen and how Mycroft learned about you. You are an orphan, probably raised by relatives, no parent would allow their child to be trained like you were and the opulence makes me think you were not in the system," Sherlock stated. "How am I doing so far?"

"Spot on," the green eyed man said.

"But this is only the surface."

"Yes," _Marc _replied, making Sherlock huff.

"I will find out," Mycroft's younger brother said.

"Oh, I don't doubt that at some point you will."

"I hate your attitude."

"But you like the puzzle I presented you with," the man countered.

Sherlock stood. "Thank you for the tea."

"I'll escort you out," _Marc _said and that was the end of Sherlock's visit.


	46. Dead End

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 46 – ****Dead End**

* * *

To Sherlock's disgruntlement, Mycroft's shadow had been honest when before parting ways wished him luck and told him that he should focus on other things and not expect to see the house again. The genius had found the comment odd until he visited the street again, after his network got back to him that there was no Number Twelve. At first Sherlock thought they were yanking his chain but a cab drive later he was standing in the middle of the street, between numbers eleven and thirteen. He stood there for ten minutes, closing his eyes and opening them again and not once did number twelve pop up. He did not see _Marc_ or _Broer_ or _Silence_ (he had talked to Lestrade about that bit of kidnapping incident yes) or whatever name or word he used to identify himself for the day, not once in the one month he had the place stalked. Some of it he did himself so he knew that it was not just skill that hid an entire building and the man owning it.

So he went a different way, he asked around about the subject of his irritation. He asked the neighbours, the shop-owners, the old people playing chess in the park across from where Number Twelve should have been, he asked about the green eyed man around the offices downtown in London and a contact or two he had in the army. The answers he got frustrated him more than helped him.

Mrs. White down at the corner bakery that also doubled as a café for the neighbourhood had told Sherlock what a nice man the green eyed assistant was and how she once heard Mr. Albert from Grimmauld Number Five call him Rupert. Mr. Albert told Sherlock all about _Rupert's_ skills with carpentry and how the green eyed man helped him fix his bookcase after his house was broken into. After that he had case after case of Mycroft's assistant helping people, however directly or indirectly, around the neighbourhood, across the city, across the country. His few contacts at the military turned up empty handed with just a suggestion that maybe the man was in Special Ops, something Sherlock could not check on just yet. Not one of them knew the man's real name and in some cases, they did not even know his real face. It was getting annoying.

After two weeks of snooping in the middle of other cases, some from Lestrade, some from people that read his blog and came to his doorstep, Sherlock finally appeared before Mycroft when his older brother was having lunch at Momo, a restaurant serving Arabic cuisine, having a meal complete with a starter, main course and dessert. He had a spare plate and a smug look on his face when Sherlock came into the restaurant and made a bee line for his table.

"Do you need something Sherlock?" he asked.

"Very funny, Mycroft. You do know your assistant has me stumped?"

"Yes, I gathered that," the man replied, continuing with his meal. "Would you like something to eat? The menu is excellent. I believe you have visited once or twice? That case you had with the widow and the thieves?"

"I know you read my blog."

"I also comment on the articles."

"Who is he Mycroft."

"Not my place to say brother," the oldest of the two replied. "He told me he gave you a puzzle to solve though he did not divulge the details."

Sherlock glared at him. "There is a Number Twelve at Grimmauld Place."

"Has been for the last three or so centuries," Mycroft confirmed. "The house of the Ancient and Noble Blacks. The direct line is extinct I'm afraid."

"Sirius Orion Black was the last member; I checked the registry once I tracked down the crest. There was a manhunt issued for his arrest but two years later there was a small announcement that he was innocent and killed during the terrorist attacks," Sherlock referenced what he had read.

"What do you need from me, Sherlock?"

"A name."

"You know I won't give it to you."

"Then what am I missing?" the functioning sociopath demanded.

Mycroft smiled. "If I told you then that would be cheating, brother. You'll figure it out, eventually. Now… Lunch?"


	47. The Curious Case of Mrs Hudson

**Beta Reader:** pussycatadamah  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

* * *

**Chapter 47 – ****The Curious Case of Mrs Hudson**

* * *

Her name came up related to one of Sherlock's cases just around the time the youngest of the Holmes siblings requested a passport. The paperwork was all ready, what remained was the approval for it and since it was Mycroft's brother the request was immediately sent to Anthea's Blackberry.

"_Odysseus,_ what should I do with it?" she asked the wizard.

"Approve it," he had readily replied.

"But why would he need to cross the pond?" Anthea asked.

"For a case he took," _Odysseus_ replied.

She blinked and asked to see the case. Apparently Mrs Hudson had asked for Sherlock's help when her first floor flat kept being invaded by all sorts of unsavoury characters, her words. Sherlock met her a week before he took the case after being kicked out of his former residence for a number of complaints (playing violin at all sorts of hours, strange fumes coming from the apartment, strange noises and low level explosions wrecking the kitchen, the door being torn off three separate times due to one of Sherlock's cases were only some of them). Another thing was that her name was not actually Hudson. That used to be her maiden name before she married Neil Turner and moved to the USA with him for a few years before coming back to stay in London permanently after ten years of marriage to him. The reasons were sketchy but apparently Mr. Turner had at one point being thought guilty of being a serial killer. It was Sherlock who offered to help her when she mentioned that Mr. Turner had been released on bail due to lack of evidence. Apparently she thought her husband guilty and wanted him locked up. What she said to convince Sherlock Holmes the man was guilty; Anthea could not find it in the files.

"She asked him to help keep him out of prison?" Anthea asked.

"No," the wizard grinned. "She asked him to help convict him."

Anthea blinked. "But that means that if Mr. Turner gets convicted he will be given the death penalty in Florida."

The green eyed man nodded. "That's right."

"And Sherlock thinks it's a worthy cause?" Anthea asked.

"He certainly seems to find her request unusual and not boring," _Odysseus_ remarked.

She frowned. "So we're setting Sherlock loose in the US?"

"Oh, no, he will have someone watching after him. Now is hardly the best time to cause an International Incident," _Odysseus_ commented.

"So, passport and visa?"

_Odysseus _nodded. "Mycroft has people he knows over at CIA, we'll have everything ready by tomorrow," he said and hurried away, sending her the contact numbers she needed to call and settle everything.


End file.
